


Rise of a new Shadow

by Ramul



Category: Overlord (Triumph Video Games)
Genre: 50 years past Overlord 2, Acting, Ambush, Archaeologists, Audience, Bad Poetry, Badgers, Basilisk - Freeform, Betrayal, Blacksmith - Freeform, Boat, Bonding, Cave, Cheating, Conquest, Conspiracy, Dark Tower - Freeform, Deception, Druids, Dungeons, Elevators, Elves, Escape, Fungi, Gen, Ghosts, Gnomes, Harpies, Horses, Illusions, Infestation, Intimidation, Magic, Militia, Mostly original characters, Netherworld, Nordberg, Paladins, Pamphlets, Parasites, Parliament, Politics, Possession, Ritual, Rowing, Search, Sewers, Sheep, Spelunking, Spiders, Swordfighting, Tentacles, Toads, Tracking, Traps, Tree Climbing, Trolls, Unicorns, Volcano, Waterfall, Wolves, Worms, Zoologists, acid trip, armour, boars, carriage, centipedes, chase - Freeform, chasm - Freeform, desecration, duel, forest, forge - Freeform, harbour, jammed signals, lost in a dangerous place, mutations, new Overlord, prison break - Freeform, revival, ruin, sacred site, shady travellers, slugs - Freeform, smelly flowers, smelter, speech, steam machines, swamp, treetop settlement, village
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 186,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramul/pseuds/Ramul
Summary: Overlords come and go, as a part of a cycle between Good and Evil. After the Witch Boy had been slain by a band of heroes, forty years had passed where Good had reigned supreme. It is time to tip the scales again - helmed by a political dissident taken straight from the Golden City's dungeons.
Comments: 32
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of a longer story that started at 2013's midwinter. It was mostly written for the purpose of writing practice, so critique is greatly appreciated.

„Once upon a time, there was an Overlord.  
He was a mighty Overlord, who defeated and obliterated the Glorious Empire and its vast armies in the course of less than a year. Three years later, he and one of his mistresses had a daughter.  
This daughter was the absolute opposite of what makes a future heir for evil. She was kind, lovely and moral, a real goody-two-shoes who kissed baby seals and nursed little bunnies back to health.  
One day, when the daughter was 7 years of age and no attempt at teaching her Evil succeeded, the Overlord's evil advisor thought, 'This can't continue. An evil reign needs an evil successor', and he ordered one of the Minions to accompany her to the forests outside the Overlord's bastion, where he should kill her. The Minion did as he was said and returned from the outside without the girl. As the Overlord learned that his daughter has vanished without a trace and didn't return, he fell very, very sad, because he loved his daughter, despite her being a freak of nature.   
Unfortunately, four days later a band of heroes burst into the bastion through one of the hidden tunnels. The Overlord gave everything he had when he defended his bastion from the heroes and slew many of them, but because he was weakened from grief, the heroes managed to overpower him and killed him in his throne room. Being heroes, the survivors celebrated their victory and plundered the Overlord's treasures to return to the outer world as rich men. They spread the news that the Overlord was no more in the lands he ruled and together with the freed people they built a new shining empire, Aurenthuria, where everyone was good and nice and kind and everyone who wasn't quickly found himself in the city's dungeons.   
The broken bastion, meanwhile, attracted more looters that wanted to have what the heroes didn't take. The Overlord's surviving Minions fought them back, again and again, but over time, they grew tired of it and more and more of them left the bastion to live in the wilderness. Only a few of the Minions remained and wait for a new Overlord to lead them and to unite them again.“  
„But how it continue?“  
„Can't just tell story where good guys win, must have proper end!“  
„Me want evil end for story!“  
„Shut up you lot! This story hasn't been finished yet, time will show how it ends for Evil and the leadless Minions. And now go back to your Barracks, the time for bedtime stories is over!“  
...  
„But I have the feeling that this story will be continued very soon, hehehe...“  
  
He wasn't sure what woke him. Whether it was the pain in his bones, the sound of water dripping, muffled by the slime that grew on the rocks, or the scratching of rats, it didn't matter. He didn't bother to open his eyes; there would be nothing new to see in his cell and the dimly-lit dungeon behind the bars. Except he did notice the reddish sheen of a torch behind his eyelids and the sounds of heavy steps coming closer. Was it already feeding time? He cracked open his crusty eyelids.  
After his eyes had adjusted, he noticed it was not the scrawny, mute man that brought the food. It was Halorn the Menace, and he was bored.  
„Hanging around in your filthy hole today again, aren't we?“  
He didn't react.  
„I'm talking to you, Orell. You dirty little traitor.“  
A muscle twitched in his face. _Orell?_ That must be his name. Was he so long in this cell he began to forget his name?  
„Oh, looks like you aren't dead, after all. Do you know what we do to traitors like you, Orell? We treat them too well, that's what we do. You should have been hanged together with the river pirates back then. Well, well, look at that evil stare. Wanna try to scare me, huh?“  
Orell wasn't staring at Halorn's fat, unwashed form. He looked past his pockmarked face, at the ventilation shaft in the ceiling ...which was moving. The barred cover was pushed out, turned sideways and vanished in the shaft, all silent, or at least silenced by Halorn's babbling Orell didn't pay attention to anymore.  
Then, something lowered itself out of the shaft on long arms. Orell could only see the silhouette of the vaguely humanoid creature, but he did notice the glow of its sulphur-yellow eyes in the darkness. Orell watched this happen without any visible reaction the guard could notice. The creature dropped off the shaft's edge and vanished behind the fat guard without any sound.  
„...and then we could feed your carcass to the pigs. The ham from pigs that are fed with criminals tastes the best. Do you want to know what the ham tastes like?“  
Orell did never get the answer. A bony, scale-covered hand with overly-long claws came from the shadows behind Halorn's head and closed over his mouth, before a second hand slid a flint dagger across his throat. This came about so fast the hands had vanished again when Halorn noticed what happened. He gasped, sputtered and grabbed at his slashed throat to stop the blood flow, then he sank to the knees and fell over, still gasping for breath.  
Halorn's fall revealed what had killed him. Illuminated by the dropped torch and staring at the dying guard with an expression that most resembled amusement, stood a scaly, scrawny creature resembling a mixture of monkey and lizard. It appeared to be of a green colour and bore sharp spines on several parts of its body. Its size was around Orell's eye height; if he would stand instead of sitting leaned against his cell's wall it would probably only reach to his hips. The most remarkable trait of the creature were the large, glowing eyes, which it now focused on him. Orell observed this without a feeling; some part at the back of his mind told him that the creature might be dangerous, as he saw himself how fast Halorn had fallen, but the rest was too numbed from the long imprisonment.  
After Halorn stopped gasping and hacking, having finally drowned in his own blood, the creature stepped forwards and casually plucked the keychain off his belt. It went to the door of Orell's cell and began to stick the keys into the keyhole, one after another to find the right one. The door screeched open after a few tries.  
„You come with me, going to get you out of here“, it said in its high-pitched but rough voice.  
Orell didn't understand. Why was he suddenly to be brought out of prison by a creature he had never seen before? What was going on? But he probably had no choice and slowly, his mind started to look forward to the offer of freedom.  
He tried to rise from his sitting position, but slumped back down. His bones still hurt from the uncomfortable sleep on the rough, wet cell floor. The creature looked at him with worry. He tried to rise again, ignoring the lingering pain, and was successful this time. Gritting his teeth from the stinging feeling of blood returning to squeezed-off limbs, he made several wobbly steps towards the cell's door, which he leaned against.   
„Can follow? Must hurry“, the creature said, looking back.  
Orell nodded. The prickling in his legs had ebbed down to a bearable point and the feeling in them had returned. He stepped forwards, more secure in step now, and over Halorn's corpse. Then, he stopped, turned around and removed the short sword from the guard's belt. He wasn't sure if he remembered how to properly use it, but it was still better than being defenseless, let alone he wasn't entirely trusting his 'saviour', either.  
As they passed the niches that led to the other cells, he could hear a prisoner shouting, who had noticed what was going on.  
„Heey, can I get out, too? I'm sitting here for tr-“  
The creature silenced him with a loud hiss in the direction of the niche. Then it reached the door that led to the guardroom of this floor and pushed it open. Orell was only mildly surprised by the guards sitting at the table with a game of cards having their throats all slit. What surprised him more were the two other creatures that resembled the one leading him waiting in the guardroom. Their faces lit up when they saw him.   
„Follow“, one of them hissed. The other pushed open a heavy oak door that was set into the wall's rocks on the other side of the room and waved them through into a narrow, dimly-lit hallway. It closed the door and locked it off, most likely with a key it took from one of the dead guards. They went along the hallway and several flights of stairs that connected it with other levels and quickly picked up speed. Orell did notice the occasional barrel or crate standing in their way; they probably were in the tunnels that were used to bring in supplies directly to the guardrooms; most of the time this was liquor. He also noticed that behind the heavy doors that branched from the hallway there were voices to be heard, and they sounded agitated. Seems like they didn't go unnoticed after all. The creatures were going faster, hearing the tumults behind the doors, too. As they passed the door of the highest floor, where Orell already felt a draft of fresh air, he could hear violent banging on the door. Then, they finally reached the exit, which stood open.   
A fourth creature was already awaiting them, and it held something in its hands. When Orell left the hallway into a dark, cobblestone-covered street, flanked on one site by the walls of the dungeon complex and by shabby, tall houses on the other, it stretched the object out to him in an offer. Orell recognized it as a bundle of rolled-up, dark cloth. He unrolled it and put the cloak over the filthy rags he wore, hiding the stolen sword under it, then pulled the hood up. Only now, that he didn't have the stale air of the dungeons as a comparison, he noticed the putrid stench coming from his little helpers.  
„To the river“, one of the creatures said. The others hissed and snickered, before they dissolved. No, not dissolved... turned invisible. Orell could still hear the occasional snicker from the spot where they stood. Acting as unsuspicious as he could manage, he followed the one still visible, which mostly kept itself in the shadows of the buildings, avoiding the parts of the street that were lit by moonlight. They passed two drunkards that were meandering across the street and even an unsuspecting street patrol without any interceptions; the creature just turned invisible like the others did before and Orell walked on as if he was just a poor traveller in search for a tavern.  
After following the broad street for ten minutes, they turned right and followed the slope of the ground down to the river, through much narrower alleys flanked with the smaller huts of fishers and ragmen that settled in the poorer parts of this so-called Golden City. Behind him, he could hear shouts and the sounds of a lot of heavy boots hitting the street, possibly coming from groups of guards on the search for either the escaped prisoner, the murderer, or both. The creature sped up and Orell did the same, both for getting away from the danger faster as well as for keeping up with the creature. Despite its short legs, the creature was surprisingly fast, and Orell hadn't run for a very long time, he couldn't remember how long.  
He could feel his lungs stinging when he came to an abrupt halt to prevent himself from colliding with the lone guard that came around the corner.  
„Hey, watch where you- you are the murderer!“  
Reacting faster than he thought he could manage, Orell drew the sword and slashed at the guard to prevent him from alerting the others. It was a badly-aimed, clumsy strike even the heavy-set guard could avoid. But Orell was fighting for his life, so the guard had to raise his buckler to block off the second blow and drew his own sword to parry the third.  
Then he started a counterattack which twisted Orell's sword out of his weakened hands. It flew against one of the walls and landed on the cobblestones with a metallic clank. With triumph in his eyes, the guard raised his sword for the final blow, only to fall over, gurgling. The creature that led Orell jumped off the guard's back and snorted.  
„Really need to work on sword skills.“  
„You don't want to know how long... I have not done this“, Orell croaked out. It was the first time he spoke for a long time and his voice sounded even worse than that of the green creatures.  
„Hurry“ was the only answer it gave before darting away. Orell quickly followed suit, often just barely avoiding the rotten crates, small tables and net piles that were leaned against the walls and finding the right turns around the shabby huts only because he still saw the creature's tail vanishing around the corner. Despite his bare feet hurting from the run, he was glad he could move quietly on the filth that covered the alleys.  
He stopped when he left the narrow, stinking alleys behind and came into view of the river, a large black band shimmering in the moonlight. They were at the edge of the city, with the river flowing out into the nearby fields. He stood on a small deck with a small, rocking boat at the end and the three creatures he left behind at the dungeon's exit... or it were three different ones, he wasn't sure. They all looked very similar to him. One waved at Orell, inviting him into the boat. They insisted on him getting into the boat first.  
When they were all in the boat, Orell could hear a group of guards again. He threw a hounded glance at the alleys between the huts and then watched one of the creatures cut the rope that tethered the boat to the deck with its bloodied dagger, while the other took a stake and pushed the boat away, into the river. The other two creatures pulled small paddles from under the planks that were used as seats and began to steer the boat further away from the shoreline. Orell, who didn't find a paddle under his own seat, shivered in the cold, misty air, while he could only observe the aggregation of huts they left.   
They were almost behind the middle line of the river and had drifted about two hundred metres away downstream when he saw the light of the guards' torches. The air above the water carried their shouting surprisingly well, albeit it was distorted beyond understanding. Then, he heard something splashing into the water some distance away. A few seconds later, a second splash.  
„Bad aim“, one of the creatures snickered.  
Orell was more worried about their situation when he saw the torches vanish in the alleys again. If there was one thing the Golden City was good at dealing with, it was catching criminals. Instead of focussing on the shore all the time they came from, he turned around to look in the direction they were heading to. The boat aimed straight at a wide sand bank. A moment later the boat came to a jolty stop when it ran aground. The creatures immediately jumped out of it and splashed towards the bank. Orell had no choice but to follow.  
He gasped when his feet vanished in the cold water and quickly followed the creatures to get out of it as fast as possible. They waited for him to catch up at the tall, uncultivated grass that bordered on the sand bank and ran ahead as soon as he reached them. Through the grass it went uphill, towards a group of trees. Orell stopped panting when he reached the top of the hill.  
„We're here“, one of the creatures said.  
Orell gave it a disbelieving look. „The guards will find us very quickly here. You lot were better off staying in the boat...“  
The creature pointed forwards and only now Orell noticed what the trees had hidden. The top of the hill was crowned with several weathered and collapsed pillars that bore the faint marks of carvings and were arranged in a half-circle. In the middle, almost covered by the grass, was a round stone plate that was surprisingly intact, compared to the pillars.  
„Is that...“  
One of the creatures placed an object Orell couldn't make out in the dim moonlight in the middle of the plate and another creature picked up a rock it found in the grass and smashed the object. Both immediately jumped back when the plate began to glow in a blue light and then a flash of the light shot up into the sky.   
„Come, quick“, one of the creatures said with a grin.  
Orell looked sceptically at the pillar of light illuminating the scene. That were these creatures up to? _What was his role in this_?  
„Are you sure that-“  
„No worry, is perfectly safe!“ To assure this, the creature jumped into the light and vanished. Orell looked back at the silhouette of the town they had just left across the river. There was no choice for him. And whatever choice there was, it was still better than continuing to rot in the cell the creatures had freed him from.   
The last thing he heard before stepping into the light was the sound of the alarm bells carried over the river from one of the guard towers.


	2. Welcome to the family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, Orell steps into the mismatched boots of the Overlord. Now he has a ruined Tower, a horde of Minions, his personal creeper, but no court jester. A somewhat boring chapter with little action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, critique is always welcome, especially in the storytelling department.

  
The glow faded and Orell stepped out of the light coming from the blood-painted makeshift magic circle into a scene he didn't expect. The place he had been brought to could be best described as a ruin.  
Whatever this once was, it had been magnificent. Crumbling arches reached up to the high ceiling which had chains hanging off it that supported the remains of banners. Tattered tapestries hung on the walls; many of them seemed to have been ripped off. The ground was full of the remains of once expensive furniture, rubble and bones. The dark violet, almost black rock that the halls had been built with bore cracks in several places, the larger ones on the ground had been provisionally covered with wooden planks. Everything was illuminated in a warm, yellow light coming from a series of braziers and an unknown source behind a turn. Compared to the cold, wet dungeons and the crisp night air of the Golden City, the air in this place was unusually warm and had a slightly unpleasant, stinging smell lingering in it.  
He and the green creatures that accompanied him were not alone; there were a lot of similar-looking tan creatures in the room, all of them looking at him expectantly, quietly talking among each other and snickering. Compared to the green ones he already knew, these were larger and bulkier, but less spiny. Most of them were dressed in rags and furs barely covering them, some had additionally strapped pieces of metal to their bodies, a few wore absurdly elaborate red dresses. In this group, a stick with a glowing stone attached to it with a rope stood out.  
„Hm... so this is the horribly evil man they wrote an entire page about in their reports? Are you sure you got the right one?“  
The stick moved forwards, and as the creatures moved aside, they revealed a hunched-over, wrinkly and unusually hairy specimen that was clad in a heavy, tattered robe made from torn cloth and leather, to which the stick was attached. It squinted and looked up Orell from head to toes, who was painfully aware of the rags that showed beneath his cloak and the tangled, louse-ridden mess his hair and beard was.  
„Yes,“ one of the green creatures whispered.  
The grey old creature squinted even harder.   
„Might you tell me your name?“  
„My name is Orell, if this is enough. I don't remember my family name anymore.“  
The creature's eyes widened and its face split into a sharp-fanged grin.  
„Orell Valendaar, the man who stood up alone against the Golden City! A pleasure to meet you, sir, there are only few people like you left today.“  
Orell only stared in confusion at the grey creature, at the other creatures around him. Did they only free him to congratulate him on the deed he deemed better forgotten?  
As if the creature had read his mind, it slapped a hand against its forehead and shouted „And forgetful I got! Let me introduce myself. My name is Gnarl, Minion Master and the devout servant of Evil.“  
Orell cocked an eyebrow.  
„And those faces you see around me are Minions, _your_ Minions in the glorious days to come. You are already familiar with the Greens, which are...“ he pointed at a patch of thin air next to Orell.  
„Wait, don't tell me that... they did just vanish, didn't they? These gonorrhoeic, beetle-buggering bastards!“   
His wrinkles getting even deeper from anger, he shouted past Orell into the empty room: „Just wait until I get my hands on you lot, I am going to skin you and turn you into fancy little lady handbags! Dyed _pink_!“  
Drawing a few deep breaths, Gnarl calmed down again. He looked briefly back at the group of tan creatures... minions, who had backed away slightly during his shouting, then curled his nose.  
„Speaking of Greens, and please don't take offense by this, but sir, you really need a bath. We can do the rest of our introduction afterwards. Grinner, Mugsy, Thug, go prepare the tub for our guest! Cyst, look through the wardrobe and see if you can find some suitable clothes the damn looters didn't get their dirty fingers on!“  
  
As he sank back into the hot water, Orell hadn't felt better in ages. With the cell he lived in before having only the pools of water that stank of urine and decay available for cleaning, the wooden tub, old sponge and block of curd soap were heaven in comparison. The tub stood in a depression in the ground that had been a pool once of some sort, but now it was cracked and empty. Orell could make out the remains of statues in the rubble and a few rusty tubes jutting out of the floor.   
He tried to imagine how this place would have looked like before it fell victim to destruction; it must have been a luxurious and elaborate palace, something a king would have owned. Gnarl did refer to the small, long-eared creatures that inhabited this place as minions... what a strange choice of servants. But what was Orell's role in this? They surely didn't take him in an order of the king or whoever else owned this place due to its state of disrepair, or at least not by the order of a living king. Maybe the fulfillment of a prophecy, as they were always a favourite among royalty. Orell grew up as a noble in Aurenthuria, but he didn't know anything about any connection of his family to royals.  
What worried him about Gnarl's introduction were the parts about being a servant of Evil. It was hard to tell whether these halls were more fashionable for a noble king or a vile tyrant, but using such creatures as servants would suit the latter better. They were ugly, smelly and at least the green ones killed guards like a child would play with a ball. But why would an evil regent want to have anything to do with him? Orell decided that pondering about it further would not lead to any results. He would have to discuss it with Gnarl later, after the bath. He picked up the sponge and soap from the small stool that also had a razor and small mirror that were brought by the minions upon Orell's request; he almost looked forward to getting rid of the beard as much as getting rid of the dirt.  
  
Shaven, with a messy, self-done haircut and slightly pink from the scrubbing of some patches of filth that he needed to get rid of, Orell stepped out from behind the draperies that separated the makeshift bathroom from the rest of the halls. He had exchanged the rags for a faded red robe with a few moth holes and his feet were finally inside a pair of surprisingly well-fitting leather boots. Gnarl and the minions were already awaiting him.  
„I hope you enjoyed your bath, sir. Now, let's continue where we stopped,“ he said with a toothy grin. „You are already familiar with me.“ He pointed at a minion that stood behind him and was eagerly writing on a piece of parchment placed on a board. Said minion stood out from the others mostly by wearing a bag over the shoulder filled with scrolls, similar to the bag Gnarl wore under his robe, and by the ink-stained claws. The minion stopped writing.  
„This is Grime, my apprentice and assistant. I can already feel the tooth of time gnawing on me and to ensure the Overlords to come will have an advisor like the ones in the past had, I decided to pick out one of the smarter Browns and train a successor for the task. He is only a beginner, but whenever I can't serve for one or another reason, he is going to substitute me.“  
The minions around Grime were snickering, because the whole time Gnarl talked, Grime was mocking his movements and gestures by imitating them in an overly exaggerated manner. Gnarl seemed oblivious to this.  
„He is not on my level yet, but in the years I have trained him, he will be able to do his job in most situations.“  
Then, Gnarl pointed at a sad-looking minion with a broom and white clothing. „These are the cleaners, and they are longing to see the Tower in its former glory. With all the deaths that occurred after the fall of the last Overlord, there are hardly any cleaners left to maintain the remains, let alone to restore the damage.“  
His hand wandered to one of the strangely-clothed minions Orell had noticed before. Aside from red dresses, the creatures wore white wigs and knee-long black pants. „These are courtiers. They are not much of use now, but they will be responsible for running the Private Quarters, as soon as those are restored.“ He pointed to an unusually large specimen of the courtiers. „This is Scruffy, she's the leader of them. If you want anything in the Private Quarters changed, personal service or additions, talk to her.“  
Orell took a closer look at the minion Gnarl pointed at. His words suggested that this one was a female, but Orell couldn't really see a difference between her and the the rest. Scruffy stared ecstatically at Orell with an expression he couldn't interpret. The stare of the minion made him feel very uneasy, so he turned away, focusing on Gnarl again.  
„And this...“ Gnarl looked around, slightly confused. „He's too late? And I wondered why it is so unusually quiet here. Grime, be nice and find Quaver. And do check the chasms, in case he got stuck somewhere again.“  
Grime smiled and ran off, but not before making a very rude gesture towards Gnarl as soon as he was not looking. Halfway along the wide corridor he came to a sliding halt to prevent himself from colliding with a purple and tan scheme that shot out of one of the doors, running straight to the collection of minions around Orell.  
„Speaking of the devil,“ Gnarl muttered under his breath.  
„Did I miss anything? Oh, the coronation day of our mighty new Overlord and I happen to be indisposed, how unprofessional,“ the newcomer blurted out, talking so fast Orell had trouble understanding him. Compared to the other minions, this one had an unusually dark and greyish colour with white patterns painted on his skin and he wore a large purple hat with a feather sticking out of it. He held a strange instrument in his hand that resembled a lute with a human skull used for the body. Orell noticed that the right eye of the minion was milky white.  
„This is Quaver, the bard. He was a court jester before, but ditched his previous work, to focus on the 'development of his musical talents', as he calls it.“  
„It is a pleasure to meet you,“ Quaver said with a bow. „I am so excited from the turn of events, I just had to start composing the epic ballad of your reign!“  
Gnarl rolled his eyes and sighed. „Quaver, shut it. The composing can wait until there is anything to compose about. I think that were all of the notable minions that are assembled here.“ Then, he made a wide gesture, encompassing all the minions in the halls. „All of them and the others you see are Brown Minions and you already had a glimpse and a whiff of the Greens, so you already know a half of the tribes,“ he said with a loud and formal voice. „Where Greens are the sneaky assassins, Browns are the fighters, which prefer a more direct approach to problems. This is why we couldn't get you out of the dungeons earlier. Capturing a group of green marauders was the only way to do this without raising too big a stir in the Golden City and without involving quite a few deaths on the wrong side.“  
„You did know about me earlier?“  
„Yes; the Golden City might be full of cutthroats, thieves and defrauders, but there is only one man sitting in the dungeons for telling off the parliament right into its face, which is the man Evil needs the most at the time.“  
Like in their previous discussion, Orell raised an eyebrow.   
„You consider my deed evil? I was telling them the facts as they are, I-“  
„You opposed the head of a mighty empire that sees itself as the beacon of goodness,“ Gnarl interrupted him. „Evil fights Good and Good fights Evil. Good once destroyed this tower and Good threw you into a dungeon for telling the truth, while Evil freed you and offers you an alliance. Evil can provide you with the necessary resources and minionpower to topple the empire and reshape it in your image.“  
An idea planted itself into Orell's mind and quickly grew roots. Now, it was Orell who was grinning. Where he stood against Aurenthuria only armed with words back then, this was the chance to make amends and to stand against it with deeds.  
„If you put it like this, being 'evil' feels like the right thing to do.“  
„Welcome to the family, Master.“   
  
When Orell entered the room that lay below the Private Quarters, connected to it by a broad spiral staircase, he could only gasp at the sight. It was a spacious, half-open hall with a high ceiling, supported by pillars as thick as trees and with the torn remains of red banners hanging off chains fastened on the walls and ceiling. The middle of the ceiling bore a large, strange stone structure that could be best described as a closed and very spiky flower bud. Streams of lava flowed through grooves on the ground that surrounded the remains of a magnificent throne, which was split into two halves. The hall became a large balcony further away that opened into a hellish landscape of flickering air, roaring streams of lava and the same violet-black rock that was used in building the room. He wasn't sure whether it was an illusion caused by the heated air or not, but he believed to see boulders floating through the air outside.  
It wasn't the size of the room or the view outside that made him gasp, though; it was the ground before the throne, that showed the remains of a battle. The whole floor was covered in so many bones Orell couldn't see the ground anymore. Some were still articulated as skeletons, some were broken, some were shattered, most were still intact. He could make out the skeletons of humans or elves, the smaller, more massive bones of the dwarves and many of the bizarre, spiked skeletons of creatures he assumed to be minions. Here and there, he recognized the bones of dogs and the remains of rats strewn in between. Among the bones there were also the rusting pieces of armour that the dead warriors once wore.  
„Excuse me, Sire, the Throne Room is a mess. We will clean it up as soon as possible.“  
Ignoring Gnarl, Orell stared at the scene before him for a good minute. „This... was done by Aurenthuria, you say?“  
„Not directly... the battle was led against a band of heroes forty years ago, the survivors of which founded Aurenthuria. Filthy bastards, just taking the earnings of your predecessor and turning his realm into a petting zoo for bunnies...“  
Finally, Orell took his gaze off the battlefield and looked at Gnarl. „If a band of heroes is able to overthrow the one who owned this place, how do you think can I defeat a whole empire?“  
„Don't get your hopes smashed so easily, Sire. Your predecessor destroyed the empire that came before Aurenthuria, and I dare to say that it had a far superior military than the Golden City and its paladins will ever have. The only reason he lost against the heroes was bad luck on our side, because they directly entered the Tower by a secret passage when the Overlord was grieving the recent death of his daughter.“  
„The previous empire...“ Orell's eyes widened. „You mean the Vainglorious Empire?“  
„Yes, called just the Glorious Empire in its time.“  
Orell stepped back when he realized where he was. He assumed he was taken into the hideout of some smaller warlord, but to end up as the successor of the Devil Emperor himself, the one the Golden City's priests claimed to have arisen from the bowels of hell to punish the corrupt Vainglorious Empire for its sins and who could only be overturned by the pure hearts of Aurenthuria's founders... why did he not realize this earlier? He could see the Tower was underneath the earth's surface and the minions that inhabited the place would suit the descriptions of ravenous armies of undead demons he had commanded, according to the scriptures. His doubts died as quickly as they had shown up. Aside from the aid of the gods themselves, this was the best he could have to end Aurenthuria's dominance.  
„But to take Aurenthuria, I will need more than just a hidden ruin and the few minions I saw in the Private Quarters. I need equipment, plans and siege machines. I need an army.“   
Gnarl just grinned at Orell's words. “Every Overlord starts out small. First it's massacring livestock, then the first village falls, and not long after even the mightiest empire is grovelling under your boots. Your number of Minions grows directly with the number of enemies you slay, which is the advantage of Minions over the armies of other races. To get your army you will have to go out and start reaping. And with the increase of Minion numbers, we could finally repair the Tower and turn it into a proper bastion for Evil!“ He paused. „But before that happens, we will make a proper Overlord out of you. And for this, we need to put you into proper armour.“ Gnarl grinned and clapped his hands together. „To the Forge!“  
  
Gnarl could only groan at the sight.   
He had to avert his eyes from the horror that was their future Overlord in armour. Like most parts of the Tower, the Forge had been plundered, too, and not a single set of armour had been left complete. Accordingly, Orell's armour had to be put together from the parts of different sets, and not all of the parts were complete.   
The helmet he wore was the same the previous Overlord had worn during his last fight and it was so dented the minions had trouble with putting it on his successor's head. The chest plate had several holes in it and half of the right gauntlet was missing, due to it having been used to test the sharpness of a new axe on back then. The worst part were the boots: one was from a pair of training boots the Overlord had worn at sixteen years of age, the other was from a particularly heavy and spiky armour set. As a result of their difference in size and weight, their new Overlord was walking very lopsided.  
There was also the problem that the sets of armour this assemblage was thrown together from were all made for a man of a significantly different stature. While Orell's height was about right, the width was definitely not. Having spent at least one year in a dungeon, he was skin and bones, and the armour rattled like a kitchen with every lopsided step he made. Giblet, who looked on with his ears drooped as much as possible, seemed to be of a similar opinion as Gnarl, even though his face was hidden behind a welding mask that didn't reveal his expression.  
Orell stopped walking in circles to test the armour and faced Gnarl, arms stretched out. „This armour is absolutely terrible!“  
Gnarl sighed with resignation. „Sire, I can see that myself. But this is the only armour left in the Tower that is still halfways wearable. And the armour and its specific appearance is one of the two things that set a proper Overlord apart from some out-of-the-mill warlord! Giblet would surely love to forge you a new set, one that properly fits you and doesn't have parts missing, but the mangy sheepheads that plundered the Tower back then stole the Forge's tools, too.“  
„And how can I be a proper Overlord if I can hardly walk straight in it? Many of the mangy sheepheads didn't make it out of the Tower alive, and a lot of their carcasses still have armour on.“  
Gnarl would have paled at his Overlord's words, if his anatomy would allow it. „But Sire... that's just unseemly, taking the equipment off the bodies of slain enemies... that's something only heroes do!“  
„Heroes and Overlords that don't want to die on their first step because they tripped over their own boots.“ Orell pulled the helmet off his head with some trouble and dropped it on the ground, before he continued to remove the gauntlets. Giblet started to whimper. „You said I am the Overlord and you are my servant. This means the one to decide what armour to wear and what not, is me.“  
„Fine. We will have to go to the Barracks then, the armour of the carcasses there had been at least better taken care of than that in the Throne Room.“  
Gnarl shook his head, then grinned to himself. This Overlord was headstrong and a whole lot smarter than most of the Overlords he had served under. He was going to be a challenge, and after having served for several Overlords in a row that were easy to lead, Gnarl loved the idea of a challenge.  
  
After not one, but two flights on the floating rocks, first back to the Throne Room, then to the Barracks, Orell stumbled into an area at the opposite wall in the gigantic cavern the Tower was located in. He could see the massive rock protrusion hanging from the cavern's ceiling which the Tower was built on in its full glory. Defying physics, the Tower hung upside-down, a ray of blue light being emitted from its crown and vanishing in the smouldering depths below and with rows of rocks of different sizes slowly spinning and turning around the Tower and the light. Orell would ponder about how this was possible later, when he got rid of the sickness the flight on one of the rocks over the void had caused.  
He, Gnarl and Grime, who had joined them in the Throne Room, walked through a place that was the opposite of the magnificent, albeit ruined halls of the Tower. It resembled more a cave system that only gradually opened up into the large cavern behind them, becoming an assemblage of natural balconies and rock spires at the ledge. Like in most places of the cavern, the illumination here came from the everywhere-present lava streams, but he could also hear the more familiar rushing of water.  
These caves were clearly inhabited by the minions; he could see the occasional small hut, and there were discarded tools, pieces of cloth and bones littering the ground. In contrary to the bones in the Throne Room, these were broken, probably to get the marrow out. Orell wondered how many of these bones came from the heroes and looters that had died here. He thought about what the minions ate, since he was now responsible for them in a way and the few he could see were far from the army he needed to take the Golden City.  
An object he spotted on a pedestal, surrounded by a barrier of sharpened poles, made his nose wrinkle up. It looked absolutely hideous, like a huge mass of bowels freshly cut from a stomach, with furuncles on the guts.  
„What is this?“ he asked Gnarl, pointing at the organ pile.  
„That is the Brown Hive. It might not be a looker, but it allows you to summon and command Brown Minions on your conquest. This is the reason why the Green marauders ran away; as long as the respective Hive is not in your possession, the Minions will only listen to treats or the enacting of violence. Also, the Hive is crucial to expand your horde, because it can directly convert lifeforce into Minions.“  
„Where are the other Hives, then?“ Orell finally turned his gaze off the disgusting object to look at Gnarl.  
Gnarl just shrugged. „Here and there, wherever the Minions brought them. Without an Overlord to lead and with raiders coming and decimating their numbers, the other tribes one by one decided to move out of the Netherworld and to live in the wilderness, like they always do, these disloyal potatoes. Unless someone captured them and their Hive, they usually move to a place with a suitable environment for them. And we have arrived. Pick something out, but please, pick something that is at least somewhat suitable for an Overlord.“  
Orell looked at the pile of skeletons and withered mummies that were lying in a hole in the ground, many of them wearing all kinds of clothing and armour, ranging from the colourful robes of priests and mages to the polished plate mail of knights and paladins.  
„Well then...“ he said and stepped into the hole.  
  
About half a hour later, Orell was finally content. Instead of the badly fitting, dented and incomplete armour he tried on in the Forge, he was now wearing a light armour made of blackened leather with an underlying layer of chain mail, topped off by a hood. This armour did probably belong to a thief, he thought. The only part from the old armour he had tried on was a part of the left gauntlet, which bore a glowing yellow gem close to the wrist. He also managed to find a well-balanced sword in the pile; the massive battleaxe he had been offered at the Forge was too heavy for him to lift, let alone to use in combat. Gnarl had taken the Shroud out of the helmet he left at the Forge, and insisted that Orell wore this strange, magical artefact. As soon as he pulled the hood over his head, he saw in the reflection of a knight's armour that the hood's shadows had deepened to the point of completely hiding his face in darkness, but his eyes were clearly visible as smouldering yellow slits. Having not agreed to this sudden transformation, he quickly lowered the hood, and his face returned to normal.  
„Don't worry, Sire, this feature of the Shroud is only for cosmetical effect,“ Gnarl told him from the edge of the hole with the corpses. He eyed his Overlord up and down, as he stepped out of the hole and on the pathway of the Barracks again. He curled his nose.  
„Are you sure you don't want to wear the armour at the Forge? This one reeks like someone had been rotting in it.“  
Orell chose to not answer Gnarl's comment, and gave him a disapproving stare with crossed arms.  
Finally, Gnarl threw up his arms and said: „Fine, do as you wish. I will not take the responsibility for any casualties that were stunk to death. And now, to the action!“ With an excitement Orell hadn't seen in him before, Gnarl hobbled forwards, away from the corpse stash and into a narrow tunnel. Orell and Grime, who circled a finger at the side of his head, followed him.  
At the end of the long, winding tunnel was a small cavern, which had air that smelled less stingy from the fumes of lava, and Orell believed to see the bluish light of the outside among the yellow glow.  
„From here, you will have to go on without us. I am too old for such adventures and Grime will better stay with me to learn better.“ Grime told Gnarl behind his back his opinion with a gesture. „Do not worry, Sire, I can see and communicate with you through the Shroud.“  
Orell stretched out his arms in a gesture of disbelief. „And you think that throwing me outside like this is the right way of starting my conquest?“  
„Where are my manners, of course not. As you see, we need more Minions to repair your Tower, forge equipment to get you proper armour as soon as possible and you need to learn the fine art of controlling your Minions. Experience has shown that learning by doing is the best way to teach fledgling Overlords all the important things about overlording. I am always with you for any advice.“  
Orell looked into the cavern, then slowly stepped forward. He wasn't sure what to expect beyond the cave, but he was sure Gnarl didn't take all that on him just for his supposed Overlord to fail.  
„In front of you lies the area of Nordberg, Sire, once a realm of snow, ice and dangerous beasts. It has changed a lot in the fifty years, oh, finally I am going to see it with my own eyes.“


	3. Forged in blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, Orell conquered his first village, got something along his first mistress (Scruffy doesn't count), took an arrow to the knee but still has no court jester. And while we're at it, the current antagonists have been introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, critique is welcome, even if this chapter is almost 6 years old already.

Nordberg had changed a lot, indeed. Where it once was covered in a white sheet of snow most of the time, with a short, rainy summer and long, chilling winter, it had now become green. After the previous Overlord burned the tar pits to thaw a ship free from the grip of a frozen river, it had never been the same. The heat and smoke from the fires had heated the air and melted the ice, letting plants grow in its place. Where the animals couldn't eat their shoots away, deciduous forests of birches and poplar have spread, adding to the dark conifer forests of the inland. The coasts, once breeding grounds of the large walrus seals, were now covered with grass and the occasional group of small and crooked trees that were able to brace the cool wind.   
It was the place Orell emerged into daylight, after having spent well over a year only in darkness and the artificial light of fire. He stepped out of the entrance of the cave, well-hidden in a group of old pines, shielding the eyes from the sun while they adapted to the fiercely bright environment. Still squinting, he looked around.  
A large rock formation was to his back, where the cave had led out. In contrary to the unusually-coloured rock of the Netherworld, this looked like ordinary granite. The pines barely ended twenty metres before him, replaced by grass and herbs that were half as tall as Orell was.  
„Hmm, I sure did like it better when it was cold and frosty“, he suddenly heard. It was Gnarl's voice, so clear as if he was standing right next to Orell. He looked to his sides, but couldn't see the old minion anywhere. Then he remembered that Gnarl said he could communicate with him through the Shroud.   
„And now, just look at it. Awfully familiar it has become, like a recreation of the Mellow Hills...“  
Orell left the rock formation and the pines behind, stepping into a flat, grass-covered groove that looked like an overgrown path. In front of him, partially hidden behind other rock formations, he could see the sea.  
Suddenly, there was a rumble in the ground.  
Orell jumped aside, just in time before a black, rotating contraption broke through the ground and sprayed pieces of turf everywhere. As it stopped spinning, it unfolded and the centre between its five thorn-like protrusions glowed in a muted yellow light. Orell eyed the object warily.  
„This is a Minion Gate, Sire. It doesn't bite, but it lets you summon Minions whenever you need them, so you don't have to go back to the Barracks on foot to get them. Like most of the Netherworld's functions, the Gates react to the thoughts of its inhabitants, but some of them need a little 'convincing' yet. The Netherworld has to accept you first as its rightful ruler to have full access. Minion Gates are rather easy-going in these regards, just stretch your left arm out to it and imagine how Brown Minions erupt from it like pus from a squeezed pimple.“  
Pushing the mental image of pimples aside, Orell did as Gnarl said. Stretching his arm in the direction of the Minion Gate he concentrated on the yellow glow, imagining it to spew one of the tan creatures out.  
Imagination became reality very quickly, as the gem on his arm flashed and a minion flew out of the centre of the gate in an arc to land in the grass on its feet. It immediately darted to Orell to stand by his side.  
„Good, Sire! Now, turn the trickle into a steady stream of Minions and summon a horde.“  
Orell focused on the gate again and was surprised at what speed the minions began to fly out of it. As fast as the stream has begun, it stopped after a few seconds. A strange, slightly unpleasant feeling spread in his mind, as if a part that didn't belong there had entered it.  
„Yes, that's it, Sire. A maximized horde for maximized mayhem. But it's still a bit on the small side, as the Hives themselves allow a very limited amount of Minions to be controlled by the untrained mind. It will get better with time.“  
Orell eyed the overally fifteen minions that were surrounding him. While their faces showed a lot of enthusiasm and they looked decently equipped with the wildly thrown-together pieces of old armour and weapons from the dead looters, fifteen was far below the amount he needed for his goals. But then again, he was nowhere close to the Golden City, which showed little interest in this area far to the north. He followed the overgrown path along the coast, the minions on his heels.  
„Tell me about the previous Overlord,“ Orell said to seemingly no one during his walk, in the hope the communication worked both ways.  
„Sire?“   
So, it did work.  
„You picked me as his successor. I want to know in whose footsteps I am following.“  
„Hmm... he was evil, more evil than most of the Overlords I served, already commanding Minions to slaughter Imperial legions at the tender age of seven. Those who opposed him were slain, and those who didn't have been mentally bound to him to not even think of resistance. Ah, those were glorious days, indeed. He was one of the Overlords with the longest reign under their belts.“  
Orell thought of his own plans. Those were big footprints to fill.  
„Interesting that you bring him up, Master, we found him in the capital of this area, abandoned by his mother and shunned by the peasants. Good thing we could give him a proper evil upbringing afterwards. Hm, I wonder if the people of Nordberg today will shiver at the mention of the Witch-Boy as they shivered back then.“  
„'Witch-Boy' sounds like a rather unconventional name for an Overlord.“  
„That was the name a girl had called him, who later became his First Mistress. While his father, the Overlord before him, was not very talkative, the magic of the Tower seemed to have messed him up a bit, making him mute, so we couldn't really ask him for a name. His mother had named him Jorit, but it never stuck.“  
„And how exactly did he take the Empire over?“  
„Oh, that's simple, Sire: Minions, magic, catapults and more Minions.“ Orell heard a snicker. „And for the first and last applications, we will show how to use them right now.“  
The path, now barely visible on the stirred-up, overgrown and partially rocky ground, led to the left, away from the sea and towards the foot of a hill. Orell could see groups of sheep grazing there, their white wool standing out from the green of the grass and bushes. Several of them looked at him and the minions, still chewing.  
„Controlling your Minions works in a similar fashion like summoning them from their Gates. You imagine them to be pushed away from you and point them in the direction you want them with your hand. If you want them to return to you, either focus on one Minion or on the whole horde and imagine them to be drawn to you, accompanied by a waving gesture. And now, rid the already overly-idyllic landscape of these sheep to retrieve their lifeforce.“  
Orell breathed slowly out, looking at the sheep. Several minions were giggling and waving at them. „I don't think this is a good idea. Someone's existence depends on these sheep.“  
„But Sire...“ Gnarl's voice sounded unusually upset, before he continued in his usual voice. „There is really nothing to worry about. These are a breed of sheep from the Mellow Hills that is known to reproduce with the speed of flies in carcasses, and such creatures are the base for a strong Minion horde, as they don't fight back notably and won't kill one of your present Minions in the process. Also, their carcasses are collected later and used for food, so you really don't need to have issues with the efficiency of your army.“  
Now that Gnarl had mentioned food, Orell was reminded that he hadn't eaten this day yet. A good piece of mutton suddenly sounded much more appealing to him than the prevention of losses to the shepherd.   
He raised his left arm at the largest group of sheep and imagined how the minions ran into the direction he pointed. The minions, who were practically drooling already, almost flew over the grass to get to the now startled sheep and simultaneously the strange feeling in his head waned, replaced by another feeling he couldn't really describe. At a speed Orell would have never been able to reach, the minions closed the distance, splitting up to chase the sheep that fled in all directions. One by one, the minions caught up with the sheep and quickly stabbed or clubbed them to death. The life of the last sheep ended as it got stuck with its wool on a bush and its frantic screaming was cut short by a sword to the neck.   
Then, Orell saw something strange. The minions placed their hands on the dead sheep and when they pulled back, strands of yellow light followed, which coagulated into orbs in the minions' hands. With wide grins on their faces, the minions returned to Orell, one after another handing over the orbs of light with a small bow, before they ran after their next sheep. As soon as he touched the first orb, it sprang from the minion's hand and vanished in the glowing gem he wore on his gauntlet, as if the artefact had sucked it up. This must be the lifeforce Gnarl was talking about. How this ethereal substance could be turned into a full living breathing being was beyond Orell's knowledge.  
As the last minion was standing behind him again, Orell walked uphill past the paddocks with the fresh carcasses.  
„Gnarl, as soon as the sheep are brought in get me a minion to bring roasted mutton.“   
„Will be done as soon as possible, Sire.“  
The scene behind the hill was very similar, the layer of grass and herbs that covered the other side of the hill was broken up by groups of trees, bushes and sheep. Orell spotted a small wooden house in the midst of the sheep groups, he assumed this was the place their shepherd lived in. Smoke coming from the chimney showed he was currently at home.   
„Master, why don't you knock at the door and nicely ask the shepherd for the fastest way to the next town or village with a forge?“  
Orell frowned at Gnarl's thinly-veiled sarcasm, but he had to admit the old minion was right. He didn't know the direction to the forge equipment he needed. He assumed this could be done without much hassle, considering the shepherd couldn't have seen what the minions have done to his sheep on the other side of the hill yet. He will let the shepherd worry about the dead sheep later.  
Telling his Minions to stay behind, Orell walked up to the house to knock on the door. It opened in the middle of the second knocking, revealing a man in his sixties with grey hair and a turnip-like nose that dominated his face.  
„What's the ruckus in the morning,“ he asked seemingly no-one, staring right past Orell off into space. After a few seconds, his eyes seemed to focus.  
„Good morning,“ Orell told him in a friendly voice, „I just want to know the directions to the next village, preferrably one with a forge, as a piece of my armour got damaged and I need it to be repaired.“  
Not answering his question, the old man looked at Orell with a frown.  
„Hmm... do I know you? You look kind of familiar to me, lad.“ Suddenly, he squinted and looked past Orell, seemingly having spotted something in the distance. Then, his face distorted in horror and he turned deathly pale. He emitted a disarticulated stammering and stumbled back into his hut, from there he jumped out of the window on the other side and ran with a speed that betrayed his age.  
„No! No! Stop vexing me! You are dead! _You are dead_!“  
 _Drat_.  
Orell spun around to the group of minions, who were laughing at the fleeing shepherd.  
„What are you waiting for? Get him!“ He didn't bother with mental commands.  
The minions ran straight past him, into the hut and out of the window in pursuit of the old man, while Orell ran around the hut, not risking any acrobatics in his current state.  
„I want him alive and unharmed!“ he shouted after them, worried they would misunderstand his intentions and proceed with him like they did with the sheep. The moment he could see the shepherd again, the minion group had closed in. A piercing scream from the man, and he fell to the ground, the minions piling on him to prevent him from struggling. Orell ran to the group of loudly laughing minions as fast as his armour did allow. Between the rough laughing and babbling he could hear sobs.  
The minions got off the man reluctantly, who was curled up on the ground and crying. He only started to wail louder as soon as he saw the minions' commander. Before he could get his thoughts together and flee again, Orell placed a boot on his chest, then bent down to get his face as close to the shepherd's as possible.  
„And now, dear shepherd, I am asking again, nicely. Where is the closest forge to fix my armour?“  
The man continued to cry. Orell could make out „Why did you return, why did you return?“ in between the unintelligible blubbering.  
Orell increased the pressure on the man's chest to get his attention back.  
„You can continue lying here and crying, until I lose my patience with you and feed you to the minions. Or you play along and tell me the way, and return to your hut to never see me again. Do you understand?“  
The man nodded and after drawing the snot up his large nose, he answered.  
„Northwest, go northwest until you cross a street. Follow it to the left, it will lead you straight to Faairdal, where Ingrid runs her forge.“  
„Good boy,“ Orell mockingly lauded the shepherd as he took his boot off the man's chest. „It wasn't that hard, was it now?“  
The man scrambled up and ran back to his hut, the minions pointing at him and laughing. Orell carefully watched that none of them decided to chase after the old shepherd.  
„Northwest...“ He looked at the sky, not knowing the time of the day and not sure if the low sun was indicating morning, evening or even midday, considering Nordberg's different geographical position. The shepherd was mentioning it was morning, but he could have slept in just as well.  
„It's the direction the hills that look like a pair of breasts are at,“ Gnarl helped him out. Orell looked around and spotted a pair of rounded hills, indeed somewhat looking like breasts, albeit very skew-whiff ones. No sign of a road was visible. With the minions in tow, he walked in the direction Gnarl had told him, ignoring the sheep between the bushes. The walk had a calming effect on him.  
What did he just do? The shepherd surely didn't deserve that kind of treatment. But then again, he likely didn't have a better choice in getting the information he needed. Just in this moment, Gnarl had to bring this topic up, too.  
„That was quite impressive how you interrogated the old fool. If only you did show the same enthusiasm in harvesting lifeforce, Master.“  
„This wasn't enthusiasm, as you call it. It was... the situation slipped out of my hands and I instinctively grabbed it, thinking later if my grip had hurt it or not.“  
„Oh, you _did_ grip it right, Sire. You recognized he was driven by fear and built upon it by threatening him. I know these kinds of people, he wouldn't have cooperated with you if you had tried anything else. Except torture, maybe.“   
Orell grimaced at Gnarl's suggestion in the privacy of the shadows on his face. Probably, terrorizing the shepherd had been the best solution, although not the nicest and most deserved. What had struck him as odd was the _reason_ why it had to be done like it had to be done.  
„Gnarl, it sounded like he confused me with someone else, someone who instilled a lot of fear in him.“  
„Yes, I was quite positively surprised how well the people remember the reign of your predecessor here, usually they forget everything after a few years. Seems like a pair of glowing eyes and a few Minions is enough to create the appropriate brown-trouser atmosphere. And I feared your current armour could ruin the feeling...“  
If the shepherd wasn't an exception and the people still remembered the previous Overlord or at least knew about him from the tales of their parents and grandparents, it would make his conquest a lot easier, Orell thought. Instead of spilling unnecessary blood, he could use the people's memories to bluff and impose himself „back“ to power, then have the people to regularly offer him sheep to increase the size of his army and not bother them in return. Considering Aurenthuria would enroll them as infantry in case of a war, this „Evil“ was an improvement for the peasants. He liked the way this was going.  
  
They reached the two hills and walked in between them. The uneven, rocky ground and the heavy chainmail was tiring Orell out and the secluded little valley with its young firs and pines looked like a good resting place.  
„Minions, we will pause here,“ Orell told, not sure how to address them. The minions first stared at him perplexed, then giggled and began to chase after each other.  
„But stay within the valley!“  
In the meantime, Orell found a rounded, moss-covered rock that looked perfect to take the strain off his legs. Over the link of the Shroud he could hear Gnarl mutter something and the voice of another minion answering him. Grime? The muttering was drowned out by the rumbling of a Minion Gate drilling itself out of the ground at the southeastern end of the valley. Orell could see an unarmoured minion running from the direction he heard the Gate emerge, carrying something in his arms.  
„For the Master!“ he said and stretched his arms with the object out. Orell recognized it as the roasted piece of mutton he had requested. It was slightly charred but dripping with juice.  
Not sure what to say, Orell thanked the minion and took the meat.  
The creature grinned the widest and dumbest grin Orell could imagine on such a face and ran off, back in the direction of the Minion Gate.  
Having nothing better to do, Orell watched the minions while chewing on the still warm mutton. He briefly wondered if the one minion would return to bring food to the others, but quickly found out they were helping themselves. Several of them were busy turning over stones and picking up the insects that lived underneath, while others were using their claws to dig up the ground and slurping up the fat, pink earthworms they found in the earth. One of them even climbed on a dead tree to tear off a slab of loose bark. The slab fell off together with the minion, causing the others close by to break out in laughter at his misfortune.  
With the bone being bare and his weariness having vanished, Orell got up from the rock and wanted to call back the minions. Then he remembered that he could still try the mental callback command. He focused on the minions in the valley and imagined them to return to his side, waving his left arm in a 'come here' motion. The call of a horn coming seemingly from nowhere startled him and the minions perked up their long ears. They dropped anything they were doing, those with insects or worms in their hands quickly put them into their mouths and returned to their former position behind Orell. He didn't notice when the strange sensation in his head had ceased, but he felt it returning immediately after the horn signal. Possibly the feeling was the mental link he shared with the minions and what allowed him to give them commands silently and in turn it apparently informed him of the occupation of the horde. The group put itself into motion again, leaving the bosom of the two hills.  
Having clear view of his surroundings again, Orell could see the road they were supposed to follow in the distance, as a lowered incision in the grass. As he came closer and could see the actual surface of the cobblestone road, he noticed it was slightly convex and had longer blocks used in its middle. This was a characteristic of Aurenthuria's work.   
Orell frowned at the sight. He knew that as a former part of the Devil Emperor's realm, Nordberg was automatically established as an Aurenthurian province under the supervision of the hero veteran Bloodsheep, but Orell didn't care much about this place and therefore was not sure how much of Aurenthuria he would find in the village he was heading to. He moved away from the road again, having seen in what direction it leads, and walked roughly parallel to it, occasionally moving closer to check if it still led into the same direction; he wanted to keep a distance to it so he could move further away as soon as hoofbeats on the cobblestones were audible. With his small horde, running into a group of paladins would be dangerous.   
He stopped following the road as soon as he could see smoke in the distance, behind a small hill. From there, the position of the village was clear. After scaling the hill he could see more than just smoke. Faairdal lay in an area free of trees and was very small, but nevertheless was surrounded by palisades. As far as Orell could see, the inhabitants were simple people and the houses were small and wooden, with the two-storeyed inn close to the gate looking like a luxury among them. There was no trace of paladins or anything else Aurenthurian for that matter; the people all wore the fur-trimmed clothes with jagged cuts he had previously seen on the shepherd. The smoke came from a half-open hut Orell could hear the faint sound of a hammer hitting an anvil from. The scene looked peaceful in the orange light of the setting sun.  
„Ha! This small hamlet is the perfect size for being subdued by your Minion horde! As long as you can get inside before the gates close, this bunch of peasants won't stand a chance. And by the lack of guards, you could do so while riding a snail,“ Gnarl called out, the first time since the two hills.  
Orell didn't say anything, as he could imagine Gnarl's answer. Subduing the village with the minion horde was the thing he wanted to prevent, because these people were harmless natives, not soldiers.  
Unfortunately, the other side of the hill was a steep cliff, so they had to go back again to find the road. Enough time for Orell to prepare the right words. If the people were as easily impressed by a man leading minions as the shepherd was, taking the village's forging equipment would be easy.   
A turn of the road around a group of bare birches later, the village was visible again, a paved offshoot of the road leading straight through the wide open gates. It was when he and his minions walked through these gates when the people started to pay attention to him. A few looked horrified and quickly walked away into their houses, but most of them stopped in their tracks and gave him a curious or disapproving look, some of them even coming closer.  
Orell built up in the middle of the street and began to speak, letting his voice sound as imposing as he could muster.  
„Yes, you see right, I have returned. And I see you have turned away from me, following that bloody sheephead of a hero instead. Such an insolence calls for punishing, but I can and will spare you for a tribute. Your forge, and in turn you, will live, your mistake forgotten. If you refuse, I will first take your life, then the lifes of your children and then the forge.“  
In any other situation Orell would have found this speech laughable and only suitable for a bad play, but the growling horde of armed minions put a lot of meaning behind them. For additional emphasis, he drew his own sword. He could see it take effect before he finished, as a few more of the onlookers ran into their houses and most of the people standing around him paled, their curiosity and disapprovement slowly turning into fear. One woman broke down sobbing.  
„But our life depends on the forge!“ one old man said.  
„You have sheep to eat and plenty of water to drink, trees to build and wool to wear. The forge only provides you with useless toys from Aurenthuria and them with weapons.“  
„Who are you to judge us?“ a youth yelled, before an old woman put a hand over his mouth and gave him a quiet, stern talk.  
„She won't be happy,“ a heavy-set man muttered.  
„We had built up our life anew after this catastrophe that destroyed our old life, and now we have to lose it again? I can't stand those sheep...“ the old man whined.  
Orell gave the man a piercing stare. „I can take the sheep away and let you all slowly starve and freeze to death. The forge neither puts out food nor warm clothing. You have the choice between these two and you will dislike one of them much more than the sheep.“  
The old woman who scolded the youth put a hand on the man's shoulder.   
„There is no sense in arguing... give him the forge. We have managed it without before.“  
„Nothing we will do!“   
Both Orell's and the old man's heads turned to the source of the words. Behind the group of staring people a young woman was standing. Instead of wearing the clothes trimmed with sheep fur, her front was covered by a leather apron, leaving her muscular arms bare. The expression on her freckled face was nothing but a frown and her tied-back blonde hair was blowing in the wind. She stood in the middle of the street that led to the now-silent forge with her arms on her hips like an unpenetrable blockade.  
„Wake up, sheep brains, this man is a liar! The heroes slew him forty years ago, and even if he is the Demon Lord, he would be at least seventy by now. This is an impostor and nothing more!“  
„But the glowing eyes, the _demons_! I have been there back then, Ingrid!“ the old man called.  
„Pah, play a bit with illusions and bait a few of the beasts to follow you around for a bit, any crook with ambitions can do that.“  
„Bah, Minions won't just follow crooks around, silly wench,“ Gnarl's voice resounded from the Shroud. Orell was grateful only he could hear it.  
„You are mistaken, the demons follow only me and nobody else, as they have been doing forty years ago,“ Orell said to the gathered people. „The heroes were the crooks, for they declared me dead and took my land without permission. I'm merely taking back what is mine.“  
Ingrid snorted at his words. „And even if! We Nordbergians lived here for thousands of years with no one claiming _our_ land theirs! People, remember your heritage! We don't bend our knees, not for kings, not for tyrants!“  
„You bend your knees for Death, like everyone does in the end!“ Orell shouted back. „My patience is finite, and it's slowly running out. You claim to be free and yet you are slaving for Aurenthuria-“  
„Master!“  
He was cut short as he felt something hitting hard into his right shoulder. He stumbled back and the fingers of his right hand went limp, dropping the sword. Only then he noticed the arrow sticking out of his shoulder. He looked up the two-storeyed building to his right and his eyes met with the wide eyes of the youth he had heard before, who still held the crossbow he had fired. And that was when hell broke loose.  
The minions screamed in anger and the horde exploded into all directions. Three of them kicked the door of the building in, five surrounded Orell, growling and with their weapons held out, the rest started slashing at the crowd, which started to scream and flee. The old man was the first to fall with a spear through his stomach.  
„ _Stop it, you damn scoundrels_!“ Orell shouted at the minions. Then, he tried to use the mental command to call them back, but his own rage prevented him from focusing. Unable to let them stop, he watched how his plans to take the forge without bloodloss were torn apart. To his right he could hear the youth screaming, which was cut short by a sickening crack when he impacted with the cobblestones, after the minions had thrown him off the balustrade. The crossbow fell shortly after him, shattering like his skull.  
The situation had slipped out of Orell's hands, he instinctively grabbed it and broke its neck.  
 _And maybe this wasn't so bad_.  
Since Orell couldn't move the fingers of his wounded arm, he picked his sword up with the left hand and raised it.  
„You chose to betray me and now you will get what you earn!“ He stepped forwards, into the direction of Ingrid, who had armed herself with the smithing hammer in the meantime.  
„You can kill us, but you never can take our freedom!“ Ingrid yelled. She swung her hammer, nearly hitting one of the minions, who managed to jump back in time. Had he not, his ribcage would have likely been shattered by the force of the blow. Ingrid was off balance after the strike and Orell took the chance to swing his sword at her. Not fast enough, as she struck her hammer at it, and beat it back into the direction it came from. Orell could feel the vibration of the blade up to his shoulder. One of the minions screamed as she managed a hit with a backhander. The creature was thrown against a wall, but immediately got up, murder in his eyes. Ingrid raised her hammer to get at Orell, who had to jump back to prevent from being hit. She kicked a minion out of her way and attacked again; it was clear she focused only on him, only wasting her energy on Minions to keep them out of range.   
Shortly before Orell had to raise his sword again to block a hammer blow, he noticed a minion with a staff twice his size running after the old woman. He focused on the creature, imagining him being attracted to Orell and his staff being attracted to Ingrid's legs. To set the command in motion, he waved his half-numb left hand, the same hand he held the sword with. Ingrid interpreted this as the swing for an attack with a widely open gape in the defense and raised her hammer with an expression of triumph. Just the moment she was about to swing her hammer down and crack some bones, the minion's staff collided with the backsides of her knees, causing her legs to collapse and her to fall. Orell immediately jumped forward to kick the dropped hammer out of her range. It curiously slid right into the direction of the minion she had hit before, who picked it up and raised it with a grin for all the other minions to see.   
The other minions payed little attention, as Orell ordered them to hold the blacksmith's limbs down. Being immobilized, she was only left to give him a hateful look.  
„Excellent, Sire! This village is now yours. You can decide what you want to do with this wench, kill her for her disobedience or take her as a slave.“  
Panting from the strain of the fight, Orell stared back into her hateful eyes, as his rage waned and his senses returned, partially from the now onsetting pain of the arrow wound. All her hate was deserved, this massacre really was not what he had intended. He absentmindedly registered how the minions handed over the lifeforce of the people they had killed. But what was done was done and now it was about minimizing the damage of the consequences.   
He could do the nicest thing to her and set her free, but this would result in her stifling up another rebellion with more deaths in the end. He could kill her and end her influence forever, and risk her becoming a martyr and the headfigure of a new rebellion. Or he could take her with him, where he could keep a close eye on her.  
„I will take her with me.“  
Gnarl's answer was partially drowned out by a loud rumbling, which was followed by one of the huts exploding. A huge, black gleaming object spun in its place, before it unfolded, revealing six rune-bearing spires and a blue pillar of light in between them. Around it, four Minion Gates emerged, three of them half hidden in the earth and closed.  
„...unusually fast acception, looks like it couldn't wait to have a master itself. The last Overlord needed to find magic in order to have it synchronize with him. But at least, you don't have to walk all the way back to the tunnels. Just drop everything you need off in the portal of the Netherworld Gate and return as soon as possible to get treatment.“  
 _Right, the forge equipment_.  
„You lot, into the portal with her. The rest goes and takes everything from the forge that isn't nailed down. Gnarl, make sure our guest gets treated appropriately.“  
The minions cheered and did as they were ordered. Ingrid struggled even harder as they picked her off the ground and carried her to the black structure with the portal.  
„You can't do this to me, you will see what-“ her words vanished with her in a flash of blue light.  
While the minions, one by one, ran to the forge and returned with tongs, ingots and molds, Orell looked at the corpses on the road, the pools of blood looking black in the dusk. The survivors were not to be seen, having hidden behind their doors. He expected himself to have the situation under control to prevent exactly this from happening. Would all his conquest look like this in the end? The situation had slipped out of his control and a lot of necks had been broken, he had counted thirteen orbs of lifeforce the Minions had brought him. Maybe he would have needed fortune-telling abilities to rule out any factors that would have led to bloodshed. Or maybe he should finally accept that a conquest can not happen without the blood of innocents being spilled.  
He sighed tiredly and winced from the pain shooting through his right shoulder the moment he raised it. The minions had finished loading the forge equipment into the portal and were now standing in their familiar places behind their master. He sent them to their Minion Gate and with a final look at the last sunrays, stepped through the portal in the larger Netherworld Gate himself.  
  
The flash of light threw him out over an abyss without a bottom. Before his brain could fully register it, the image closed behind overlapping white stone plates that formed a solid ground for him to stand on. Orell looked around and recognized the place as the Throne Room, now without the layer of bones covering the floor and the place being full of minions, which swept the bones and rubble into piles, built scaffolds and transported the forge equipment away. Looking up, he saw the slowly rotating spire structure in the ceiling having opened like a flower, glowing in the same colour like the portal he had entered.  
Gnarl, who was busy shouting at the working minions, walked up to him from the direction of the throne. „Good that you returned in one piece, Sire. The Netherworld might be able to heal wounds almost instantly of the Overlords it has accepted, but stuck arrows are a peculiar thing that need more treatment. Go and see Mortis in the Barracks to fix it, Mugsy will wait for you to show the way.“  
Orell turned to the jutting projection at the far side of the Throne Room, where the floating rocks were hanging, waiting for passengers. He grimaced at the thought of using this mean of transport again.  
  
Surprisingly, the ride wasn't as awful as the first few times. It didn't matter if it was because of the pain in his shoulder or one of the features of the Netherworld having accepted him, he was still grateful for not getting nausea. The thought of standing on a wobbling platform that flew over an abyss he couldn't see the bottom of was still unpleasant, though.  
As the rock docked on one of the natural balconies of the Barracks, Orell spotted the minion Gnarl had mentioned waiting for him. He recognized Mugsy as the one who got hit by Ingrid's hammer and was now carrying the tool slung over his shoulder.  
„Come, Master. Mortis waiting!“ he said, eagerly pointing at the tunnels. Orell followed the minion who quickly limped into the tunnel. It looked like the hammer strike harmed him more than it looked like back then in the fight.  
“Why did you lot attack the people in the village?“ It was a simple question, no anger or reprimand swinging along with it.  
Mugsy shrugged. „Had to protect the Master. We so happy to serve again, didn't want to lose you so early.“  
Orell was surprised by this answer. He didn't expect the attack was a result of their caring. Seemingly, the best was to look after their behaviour was to look after himself.  
The rest of the way to Mortis, whoever this was, was silent. Orell noticed how the distant sound of rushing water grew louder and how the environment changed, from the bone-littered ground and the huts to a cleaner, emptier and darker cave with cooler air and occasionally small rivulets running down the walls. Then, the bigger streams showed up, which were crossed by simple makeshift bridges from wooden planks.   
They finally arrived in a cavern with a large system of rivers and waterfalls roaring through the middle of it. Mugsy limped straight into the direction of a strange-looking place at the main river's shore. As Orell came closer, he recognized a well sticking out of the middle of the flat dell they were heading to. Next to the well, a dark figure was standing, leaned on a long, gleaming object. Close enough to feel the water spraying up from the river, he could recognize the figure as a very odd-looking minion dressed in a robe and leaning on a scythe, which made him resemble the Grim Reaper, a fairytale character popular across multiple cultures.  
„Welcome, Sire. I have been awaiting you.“  
Even the voice of the minion was strange. While the brown ones had a high-pitched, rasping voice and greens were always near-whispering and stretching the vowels, the voice of this one sounded as if he had water in his throat. The voice was not the only strange about this minion; from the parts that were not covered by the rough brown cloak, he could make out a heavy tail with a fin seam, feet with long, clawless, webbed toes and a pair of fins poking out of the hood from slits in the fabric. The colour was a dark grey with a tinge he couldn't describe and the eyes were of such a pale yellow they looked almost white.  
„This Mortis, Master. Can heal you,“ Mugsy said excitedly.  
„Mugsy, help him remove the armour from the shoulder. I need the wound bared for healing.“  
The Brown reached up with his long arms and began to fumble around on the straps that attached the shoulder piece. Orell knelt down on the bone-littered ground to give him better access to the straps, while he unfastened the front part. He had to grit his teeth when pulling the shoulder piece along the arrow's shaft. Mortis handed him a flint dagger, not unlike the one he had seen on the greens, to cut the fabric underneath.  
„This is enough,“ Mortis said and stepped next to Orell. His webbed fingers slowly and carefully closed around the arrow. Then, he suddenly thrust the arrow forwards.  
Orell suppressed the scream that formed in his throat, which came out as a gasp. He had to control himself from falling over. Being immobilized by the pain, he registered Mortis reaching around and snapping the arrow's head off that poked out on the other side, then quickly pulled the shaft out of the wound.  
„This will be over quickly.“  
The Minion placed a cold hand on Orell's shoulder. He could hear a sizzling sound and the smell of ozone filled the air. The pain vanished completely, and when the hand was removed, Orell couldn't see even a trace of the arrow wound.  
„Sorry, Master. But this is the way arrows have to be removed. If the head comes off inside, it would have been much less pleasant for you.“ Mortis said as he placed a hand on Mugsy's leg and worked the same magic he had used on Orell.  
„How can I prevent such removals in the future?“ Orell wasn't sure if any of the two knew an answer, it was more a question to himself.  
Mortis gave him a short look. „Plate mail.“  
  
With Mugsy guiding him the way back, Orell took the floating rock back to the Throne Room. It seemed he was really getting used to this way of transport. Before he was going to the Forge, he wanted to know if the tools have been brought up there already. He could hear a lute playing amidst the clanking, clattering and babbling. Quaver was sitting on a stump of a pillar and singing along, constantly interrupting himself and starting anew.  
„He raised the shepherd from his sleep,  
and told him 'I have killed your sheep!'... no, that's awful. Too direct.“  
Orell paid no heed to Quaver's composing, something next to the throne took his attention. Gnarl and Grime walked up to him.  
„Now that you are not practicing being a pincushion, Sire, we need to discuss-“  
„What in the Abyss Serpent's name is _this_?“ Orell pointed at the throne. Ingrid was shackled to it, wearing hardly more than her underwear. Even in this situation, her expression was truculent.  
„Oh, we thought that this is an appropriate way to deal with your defiant slave. It adds to the atmosphere of the Throne Room.“  
„I never took her for this purpose. Unfasten her and bring her some clothes. And keep her away from any weapons.“  
“Ooh, now I understand, Sire,“ Gnarl said with an insinuating grin. „We deeply apologize for misunderstanding your intentions in such a way.“  
Orell rolled his eyes. „No, you _don't_ understand. Bring her into the Forge when you are done, she knows best how to use her own tools. And make sure she doesn't try do do anything funny up there. Now, to the matter you wanted to discuss.“  
„Ah yes. You conquered a village, but your work there is not done yet, Master. It needs to be secured to prevent the peasants from abandoning it or the enemy having easy play with taking it back.“  
„Can this wait until tomorrow?“  
„Of course it can, I will send the Minions we can spare to look after it for the night. The other thing is that with your expansion and the Netherworld's activation, we found out what had caused the earthquake over thirty years ago. A volcano has erupted through the tunnels of the Nordberg Sanctuary back then, which contributed to Nordberg now looking like a spit-image of the long-gone Mellow Hills. I suspect the Red Minions have settled down there, like they did the last time, they love fiery places.“  
„That will wait until tomorrow, too. I have to visit the Forge now, because I prefer to not get another treatment of arrow wounds by Mortis.“  
Gnarl just grinned and folded his claws.  
  
As he entered the even hotter air of the Forge, Orell found the forgemaster Giblet in a state of unusual excitement. Where he was contained and passive the first time Orell met him, he was now completely different, weighing the hammers and inspecting the anvils they had taken from Faairdal.  
„Giblet...“  
The Minion's ears shot up and his masked face turned to Orell.  
„I want to commission a plate armour.“  
The ears dropped again.  
„Mastah, Giblet can't, forge has no Reds, need good fire...“  
Orell frowned. „You might have noticed we are surrounded by fire. Take some of the leftover wood and help yourself on the lava.“  
„But Giblet need hotter fire for forging than wood fire.“  
„Giblet has forging tools to make hotter fire. If a hamlet in the middle of Nordberg can make it hot enough, so can Giblet. And if Giblet doesn't know, Giblet can ask the owner of the forge tools,“ Orell retorted, mocking the Minion's referral to himself in third person. „Build the tools up, I am coming up again tomorrow to have you take the measurements. The meat mountain that was wearing the armour pieces I tried on is not a good substitute for them.“ A bit calmer, he added: „And maybe the Reds will return tomorrow“. He saw Giblet jump up in silent joy.  
He turned around giving a glance to Ingrid, who was sitting motionless in one of the shadowed corners. She was wearing her old clothes again, but her legs were still chained together, so she could walk but not run. She glared back at him. Stepping on the floating rock on the Forge's balcony and planning to head straight for the Private Quarters to call it a day, Orell stroked over the hole in the leather the arrow had left. As long as the plate mail was not done, he had to take care of this one. He would have to ask Scruffy to mend it.  
  
Haeren Bloodsheep took another swig from the wine while fixating his guest on the other end of the table.  
„What has brought you here into my humble city, noble paladin?“  
He was one of the few surviving heroes of the battle against the Devil Emperor and the only survivor of the many farmers that followed the band of warriors on the quest for freedom. This sudden promotion of status and the fact he knew farming were the reasons he was assigned to rule over Nordberg. To be accepted as nobility, he had to bear a family name, and he wanted to be named after the most noble creature he knew. Haeren was a stout, fat man with receding hair, who became firmly religious after having such luck in the battle, which led to good relationships with the paladins.  
The paladin, a man named Kael who knew Haeren for seventeen years, stared back at him, the glass of wine not touched.  
„My informants have reported the presence of an evil artefact around here.“  
Haeren gasped at the words. „Oh, I sincerely hope you will find and destroy it then, no?“  
„Yes, that is the main reason I came here. While we are here, we can also weed out the evil creatures, I heard the wolves are getting pesky. My men can use a bit of training.“ Kael's iron stare softened. „And how is your business running, the locals still complain?“  
Haeren loudly blew out air at this mention. „As always. Still whining and crying after their lifes as seal-hunting savages. They don't realize they would have starved to death, weren't it for the sheep.“  
Kael got up. „It was nice to see you again, Haeren, but I have to look after my men now, it is late. May Punarim protect you.“  
„May Punarim shine light on your path,“ Haeren answered. With this, Kael turned around and left the decorated town hall of Nordberg. Haeren reached for the glass of wine he had offered the paladin in a courteous gesture; he knew paladins were abstinent, but the etiquette required this. Not to waste the good wine, he emptied the glass. He was glad the paladins had come, maybe they would not only take care of the wolves in the forests, but also with the demons that populated the distant volcano. The soil there was perfect for grass and the grass would be perfect for sheep.


	4. Into the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today, Orell has to deal with his creepy courtier, his cowardly villagers, a lot of muck, then has fun with the fiery fauna, fries paladins and gets a serious case of bonkers.  
> And Gnarl shits into the Abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, critique is welcome, even if this chapter is years old. I could always learn something for future writings.

„ _Dammit_!“  
Orell awoke in a state of pain. Every bit of his body, with the exception of the right shoulder that Mortis had healed yesterday, was aching from the mother of all muscle soreness. He half rose, half rolled out of the collapsed bed he was sleeping in and got up on shaky legs. Reaching for the stone pile next to the bed, he pulled the rough linen shirt on which he wore under the armour.  
„Scruffy!“  
The curtains that separated the room from the rest of the Private Quarters flew aside almost immediately and the courtier stepped inside with a worried expression.  
„Go and get Mortis.“  
„Yes... Master,“ Scruffy said in a strangely husky voice, eyeing him with an ambivalent grin, before she vanished behind the curtain again. Orell shuddered at the thought of this creepy courtier. The way she stared at him yesterday when he took off the armour to have it mended had disturbed him enough already.   
To distract himself from the soreness and the thoughts on Scruffy, he picked up the plate with the remains of last day's dinner from one of the stone blocks and ate the cold mutton piece, flushing it down with a jug of water. He looked at the neatly arranged pile of armour that Scruffy or one of the other courtiers had finished repairing overnight, deciding not to worry himself with it before getting rid of the soreness. Instead, he thought about the tasks for today.  
Securing Faairdal, then searching for Red Minions in a volcano. The first task looked manageable, it would probably only consist of organizing the Minions that Gnarl had already sent there and the rest he would see depending on how the villagers will react. The second, however... Gnarl didn't mention if this volcano was inactive or not. Orell had never been a big fan of heat, always preferring the colder seasons over summer. Aside from this, he was very aware how fast metal heated up, metal that was used in the chainmail he wore. At least Giblet would take some time to finish the plate armour, because Orell was sure Gnarl would not shut up about it as soon as it was done. As he was thinking about how to make the retrieval of the Reds as least unpleasant as possible, he heard the curtains being pushed aside again. Mortis had arrived, staring with a weary face expression at Orell.   
„I require your healing services again. All the activities yesterday weren't taken well.“  
„I understand,“ came the gurgling answer. Orell heard the Minion's footsteps on the polished rock, sounding like those of an oversized duck. Mortis walked to the edge of the bed, where Orell sat. Behind the robed Minion, he could see Scruffy still standing at the curtain. He waved insistently in a gesture for her to go away; if he had to take off his clothes she would be the last creature he wanted to be around. Her ears dropped a bit, but she did follow the order.  
Silently, Mortis closed his hand over Orell's wrist. First, nothing happened, then Orell could feel a prickling sensation radiating from the touch, leaving the absence of pain in its wake. He curled his nose when it started to spread in his chest, the feeling was very unusual outside of limbs. When the sensation had passed through Orell's toes, Mortis took his hand off and turned around to walk out of the room.  
„Sorry to bother you with this,“ Orell said after him.  
Mortis turned his head briefly. “Do not worry, Sire, I have done this for other Overlords-in-training. Do not hold back on the field, it will stop happening again quickly.“   
Only when Mortis vanished, Orell got up to put on the armour. Then, he remembered that he needed to pay a visit to Giblet for the measurements.  
  
Orell stood still while Giblet's hands went all over him. The forgemaster had an unusual way of measuring, by using a thin rope he tied knots in. He was constantly muttering under his breath.  
„So, Gnarl... since the approach to the securing of Faairdal has been decided, I wanted to know more about the volcano I'm about to visit. I am not exactly fireproof, you know.“  
Gnarl, who had followed Orell up to the Forge to talk about the matters of today's plans, picked his ear and answered.  
„The information from the Netherworld tells me that there is still some degree of activity in the volcano, but it is restricted to the inner parts and stable, so you don't have to worry it blows up on you, Lord.“  
„I was more worried about being cooked in my own armour from the heat alone.“  
„Don't worry, Sire, judging from the Netherworld input most of the system is cool enough to walk around in it, not really warmer than here. You will encounter the Reds there sooner or later, they won't spend all their time bathing in lava. Pity the armour set with the fire resistance has been lost completely...“  
Orell listened up. „Is it possible to recreate such an armour or enhance a present one?“  
Gnarl's eyes trailed over the floating boulders outside, while he stroked his goatee. „Yes, but not with the equipment we have. Steel cannot hold magic without the right forge equipment and even then, it will need the Reds to work.“  
Orell frowned. He had to get into the volcano one way or another. Waiting for Giblet to finish the measuring, he took a look at Ingrid, who was loudly snoring in her corner. In this state, she was almost bearable.  
„How long will the armour take?“ he asked Giblet, who shrugged.   
„Giblet long time no worked with conventional tools. Three days at least.“  
 _Let's just hope I won't have any other unpleasant encounters with crossbows until then_ , Orell thought.  
  
Having returned with the leather and chainmail armour from his Private Quarters and waiting for Gnarl to show up again, Orell spent his time looking at the state of the Throne Room. The rubble and bones had been removed overnight and the scaffolds were in a far more advanced state. The Minions were now mostly busy with cutting down the broken edges of the pillars and tearing out cracked tiles to have them replaced. It appeared like there were more Minions in the room than yesterday.  
„You are waiting for someone, Sire?“  
Orell turned around to the source of the words. Grime was standing behind him, with an expression that looked more like a mild interest rather than the boredom Orell was used to see.  
„Yes, Gnarl has vanished somewhere. He didn't explain me how to activate the teleportation device and I am not planning to walk the whole way to Faairdal again.“ He looked at the slowly spinning contraption of pointed spires and wavering blue light.  
„Gnarl is on a toilet break, but he taught me how the device works. Stand in the middle of the pit below the crown, focus on the light and think of the look, sound and smell of the location you want to travel to.“  
Orell did as Grime told, stepped down the flat, irregular stairs into the middle of the rune-decorated pit and looked up. From this angle the glow and the spinning looked almost hypnotizing. He thought of the small huts within the palisades and the cool, slightly salty air carrying over from the sea.  
„But the activation can be a bit scary for beginners,“ Grime shouted after him.  
And then, Orell lost his foothold as the stairs folded away, revealing the glowing, bottomless void below. Just before he could start flailing in panic, he heard the crack of lightning and everything vanished in blue light.  
  
Orell stumbled down the stairs of the Netherworld gate in a most un-overlordly manner.   
He was not falling.  
Righting himself up again, he could see he was in the place he left yesterday. Truly, the makeshift portal the Minions used to bring him into the Netherworld was a far more pleasant way to travel, especially since they didn't involve starting to fall into a bottomless pit. Faairdal was looking almost the same way as he had left it yesterday, bathed in the yellow light of a dawn. The corpses had all vanished, only the stained cobblestones told of what had happened. Maybe the villagers had briefly come out to remove and bury them, but Orell briefly thought of what Gnarl told him yesterday about the sheep, and couldn't stop thinking about the corpses having been brought into the Netherworld for food. He made a mental note that he will ask the Minions that brought the food if the meat is really mutton next time.  
„Master, it looks like the villagers aren't out yet,“ Orell heard Grime through the Shroud. „It's best you use the time to assign the Minions Gnarl sent here yesterday to their appropriate tasks.“   
„Aah, Master!“ One of said Minions jumped off a low roof and ran towards Orell. The Minion stared at him with a grin, then his ears dropped. „Villagers still hiding in huts.“ Orell noticed that the Minion looked a good deal smaller than those of the horde, wasn't scarred and wore nothing more than a brown fur loincloth.  
„I don't need them right now. Who is the leader among you lot here?“  
The Minion grinned again. „You are, Master!“  
„No, I mean the leader _among_ you _Minions_ ,“ Orell tried to explain.  
The Minion cocked his head. „Gnarl?“  
Orell quickly grew the intense desire to find a solid wall to bang his head against.  
„Gnarl has sent a group of Minions into this village yesterday. You understood me so far?“ The Brown nodded. „And now, among this group of Minions, there is one that is the biggest or strongest or, in Punarim's name, the smartest. Who is this Minion?“  
The Brown was grinning as he seemed to understand the question now. „Hanky is!“  
Orell sighed in relief. „Get Hanky. And get all the other Minions that are stationed here, for that matter.“  
The Minion darted off between the huts, shouting at several others. One by one, the other Minions returned from their places between the huts, on the cobblestone road, on the roofs or inside empty huts and lined up before Orell. The last one came from Ingrid's forge; he stood out by wearing some simple pieces of leather on several body parts and a turned-over flower pot with the flowers still in it on the head. The other Minions stepped aside to grant him the place in the middle of their group.  
So much for a smart leader.  
„You lot are going to arm yourselves with what you can find and what is not being used by the inhabitants and station yourselves at the entrance. Check everyone you see coming or leaving thoroughly and close the gates when you see armed forces.   
You four, position yourselves on the highest places in the village, one on each compass point, and look out for anything that might be dangerous. Inform those at the gates if you see anything.   
And you lot, help the villagers in repairing the damage and help them out in general. If you notice anything fishy going on among them, inform me immediately.“ Orell accompanied his assignments with wild hand movements and mental commands to make sure the Minions understood what he wanted from them. Lastly, he turned to Hanky.  
„And you, Flowerpot, make sure they are all doing their tasks properly. Also, if the villagers have any special requests, they will have to ask you.“  
Hanky did a sharp salute which resulted in the flowerpot falling off his head and shattering on the cobblestones. He looked at the shards and mangled plants with drooping ears while the other Minions were roaring with laughter.  
„Well done, Master. Hanky might not be the smartest of the lot, but he is certainly the one to efficiently keep them in line.“ Orell heard a sigh over the Shroud. „Especially the young Minions don't value the smarter ones, anyway.“  
There was a repeated hissing coming from the link, quickly growing louder. Then, Gnarl's voice could be heard from a distance. „Grime, get off, that is my work!“ The voice was now at the usual volume. „You don't want to talk the Master into something silly with your lack of experience, do you? Ah, Sire, nice to hear you again, sorry for my absence. All the sudden mutton is giving me indigestion, the Abyss is probably a good deal less deep after all what I have sent down into it...“  
Orell curled his nose as an answer, this was the last thing he wanted to know about his decrepit advisor.  
„Well, looks like you are already done with assigning the Minions to their tasks, Lord,“ Gnarl thankfully changed the topic.  
„Yes, and I wanted to motivate the villagers a bit afterwards, but it looks like they are hiding.“  
„Eh, you can wait for these lily-livered lummoxes until your legs sink into your torso, better just stand in the middle of the hamlet and shout everything out.“  
While Orell didn't really like the approach Gnarl had offered, it seemed to be the best idea to do. He wanted to continue with his tasks as soon as possible, so waiting for them to leave their houses was out of question. It also would probably be less intimidating to them than silently waiting.   
Positioning himself on the raised part of the road, the same Ingrid had been standing on yesterday, he began to speak.  
„Dear people of Faairdal! You have nothing to fear anymore. The traitor among you who bears the blame on the events yesterday evening is being appropriately punished for her crimes and will serve for you all as a warning. But if you stay obedient, you will be rewarded, with help and with security.“   
Slowly, doors and windows were being opened and heads peaked out.  
„My Minions are fierce in battle and strong in work. They will help to rebuild the damages and expand your village if you wish as well as protect it from any bandits, raiders and anything else that might trouble you.“  
„Raiders are not our problem, Dark One. It's the wolves in the forests. They come out and get our sheep at night, and now we need the sheep more than ever...“  
Orell recognized the speaker who was now standing outside on the street as the old woman from yesterday. She looked as if she had aged a decade in a night.  
„And neither will the wolves be a problem. The Minions possess stamina and a keen eyesight, they will watch your sheep day and night. Soon, the beasts won't dare to come even close to your pastures. I will now go into the forest and see if I can do something immediately about it.“  
Although the wolves were not his concern right now, they were a good excuse to go. He feared continuing to talk to the villagers will only result in a bickering about sheep.  
Turning his attention away from the emerging villagers, Orell focused on the only active Minion Gate and imagined Minions to emerge. As the stream gathered behind him, he counted sixteen Browns, and grinned behind the hood. He was improving.  
  
Ingrid wearily woke from the sound of a hammer hitting metal. She couldn't sleep the whole night, first the welding-mask-wearing creature that had been referred to as Giblet was noisily setting the forge tools - _her_ forge tools- up, when it was not shouting at and ordering the smaller creatures around, then they were loudly dumping wood next to the smith's hearth. Now, Ingrid's defocussed eyes were registering the silhouette of Giblet hitting a piece of white-hot metal in front of the fire of the hearth. With every hit, sparks flew off the glowing metal. This scene looked incredibly beautiful to her, reminded her of the time she learned the art of forging herself...  
She noticed something off with the scene, though. The tone of the metal wasn't right. In her tired state, she disregarded her position as a captive and rose from her position in the corner.  
„No, no, no, the metal is too hot for forging!“ Giblet stopped hammering and looked up from his work, straight at her. „It is going to burn at this temperature and become brittle!“  
The creature now looked at the metal itself and snorted behind the mask. „Right. Giblet so long no worked with regular forge and heated steel to temperatures used for magical forge.“ He pulled a large brush from a bucket and began to sprinkle water on the metal, which was violently hissing, spitting sparks and steam. Staring into the steam, Ingrid's mind slowly awoke and she remembered where she was, and more importantly, _why_ she was there.   
She was giving forging tips to her enemy.   
The realisation made her step back and she stumbled from the chain on her legs. Giblet looked up from the metal and turned his head towards her.  
„Something not right?“  
The question surprised Ingrid. „No, everything is alright...“  
„Giblet worried lady might not feel well.“ The creature focused on the metal again, sprinkling it a second time.   
Ingrid was now just staring at Giblet. She had seen how these creatures were. Before the Demon Lord's impostor brought them to Faairdal, the villagers had to deal with them occasionally, when they killed the sheep or harassed the shepherds. From what she knew about them, they were violent, cowardly and hardly smarter than the wolves which created the same kind of troubles. The creatures had proven their violence yesterday, but under the impostor's control they had shown courage and now, even a surprising amount of care.  
 _What impostor_ , she thought. This hellish place she was brought in, where lava was flowing free and rocks floated through the air like dandelion seeds, was proof enough that he was not lying. If this was not the Demon Lord himself, it was his direct successor.  
Giblet was hammering on the metal again, which now had the correct shade of pale yellow. With the metal being at the right temperature, Ingrid was able to hear out that the blows were too loud.  
„And if you hit the metal less hard, it will be more homogenous and stable.“ Ingrid began to ignore the place she was in again. After being the only blacksmith in the area and with all the events in the last day the allure of talking to someone who knew about forging was just too strong. She also decided that playing along with Giblet was the wisest she could do here. While she had a free-spirited nature, she wasn't stupid. There was a difference between rising up against a man leading a bunch of creatures into a free village and trying to rise up when alone, in a possibly dangerous, unknown place and being surrounded by nothing but said creatures.  
Giblet shortly stopped hammering, then continued with the same vigor. „Giblet must work fast... to finish armour in time... will temper the metal... when shape is done,“ he said between the hammer blows.  
His words made Ingrid excited and a grin crept across her face. „Tempering? You have a tempering stove?“  
Giblet pointed a structure in the shadows of a niche, next to several other objects. „Is not working without Reds. Mastah going to find Reds today, then tempering stove can be used.“  
The smile vanished from Ingrid's face again, both because the stove was not functional without „reds“, whatever that might be, and because of the mention of „master“.   
„That 'master' of yours... what does he do for you?“ Ingrid asked tentatively. She knew she was moving on thin ice, but she needed to know more about the place she has been brought to... and its inhabitants.  
Giblet stopped hammering at the metal and looked at her. She was unable to see his face, but the positioning of the ears didn't appear to be hostile. „Mastah leads us, protects us and lets us have a lot of fun.“ His voice sounded ecstatic.  
“And... what about the places he conquers? How do the people fare under his reign?“  
„Hmm...“ Giblet scratched his rear with a gloved hand. „Depends on Mastah. Some kill everyone, some put everyone under mental control, some make everyone fear them, some make everyone like them. Only higher-ups always get removed and replaced, rest often stays as it was.“  
Ingrid wasn't sure what to make out of this. Compared to what Giblet did mention, this „master“ seemed to be a less evil one, as opposed to the ones that kill or mentally control everyone. Then, the last part of Giblet's sentence sunk in.  
„Wait, does this mean your master is going to remove Bloodsheep from his position?“ As Giblet lay his ears askew, she added: „the mayor of Nordberg.“  
„If Bloodsheepie,“ Giblet suppressed a snicker at the name, „rules place, he gets removed. Name is too silly to rule, anyway,“ he added.  
This let Ingrid see her captor in a new light. Haeren Bloodsheep was the man she hated the most in the entire world. The successor of the Demon Lord might have killed the villagers, and even then it looked to her like he did not want to do it back then, but Haeren willingly murdered Nordberg's entire culture by replacing their harpoons with crooks. If supporting the successor to cleanse Nordberg of Haeren was the way to have the culture revived, she would do it in a heartbeat. She needed to convince him to let the people of Nordberg live in the way they did before Bloodsheep, and for this, helping Giblet was the best way to work herself up to the position where he would listen to her.   
  
With a loud smack, Orell pulled his foot free from the morass. Bad protection from arrows or not, he was really glad not to wear plate mail. He and his horde were crossing the forest to the west of Faairdal, as that was the general direction Gnarl had pointed him to to reach the volcano. Moving through said forest was trappy, as the ground was soft and soaked with water. Even avoiding the obvious wet parts, a lot of the swampy ground was hidden under a dry layer of needles. His boots were covered to the shins with muck. The Minions seemingly had much less trouble, their smaller size and large feet preventing them from sinking and if necessary, they could move on all fours as quickly as just on their legs.  
The forest was an old-growth one. While there were several places Orell noticed young conifers or, especially in the wetter parts, birches, most of it was consisting of large, crooked and moss-covered pines. There was bird song and the sound of water drops to hear. And, most relevant to Orell, the distant howling of wolves. The Minions seemed unexpectedly ecstatic at these sounds. Orell could make out „nice wolfies“, „friends ahead“ and „having fun together again“ between their babbling. Not sure what this meant, he decided to ask Gnarl about it.  
„The Brown Minions love wolves,“ he answered. „If you find any along the way, your Minions can ride them, which gives them an advantage in speed and strength.“   
„So... the Minions in Faairdal will not actually protect the sheep from the wolves, do I understand that right?“  
„Much better, Sire, much better. The peasants will have their own brand of shepherd dogs to protect and guide their sheep!“  
„I'm not sure how much they would like it when the Minions suddenly return of wolfback. Can you arrange that the villagers get informed, before they break out in panic first?“  
„Of course, Master. Grime, make yourself useful!“  
Orell could imagine the kind of gestures and grimaces Grime would pull behind Gnarl's back.  
Then, he stopped dead in his tracks as he heard grunting in the underbrush, way too close. He was about to run into boars.  
Not waiting for them to form an attack, he sent the Minions in the direction of the grunting. The Minions shot into the bushes and he could hear the startled squealing of the pigs. He quickly followed them to have a view on the scene himself and to more efficiently direct his Minions. He saw several of the boars fleeing at a speed no Minion could reach, some were already dead or dying from the sudden attack, but the others, about five, defended themselves remarkably. The Minions attempted to surround the boars, but with the fast turnarounds and sudden charges they had their hands full with avoiding the tusks. One of the Minions screamed as a boar managed to get at him. This little distraction was enough for the other Minions to swamp the animal. Another Minion was flung through the air, when the largest of the boars broke through the circle of Minions and ran. The remaining three boars were taken care of quickly, with the Minions having to focus on less enemies. With this done, the Minions were doing the same they did with the sheep yesterday, pressing their hands against the bodies and pulling the lifeforce out. Orell was surprised by one of the lifeforce orbs being of a bright red colour rather than the muted yellow of the others, the one coming from the boar that managed to maul a Minion. As if Gnarl could read his mind, he did give an answer to Orell's unasked question.  
„Aah, red lifeforce, Master. Quite handy that you encountered it so close to the retrieving of the Reds.“  
Watching the red lifeforce being absorbed by the glowing gem on his left arm, Orell asked further on the matter.  
„And is the closeness to a certain type of Minion what determines where I can find which lifeforce?“  
„No, not really. While there are some creatures that bear only one type of lifeforce in their bodies, which can also be often found in similar environments as the Minion tribe in question, most creatures bear different types of lifeforce colours, which show through their personality. That one boar seemed to be a very hot-headed one, just look what it did to Skull.“  
Looking at the Minion in question, Orell crinkled his nose in disgust. The right arm of Skull hung limp at his side, being slashed open along its entire length. Orell could make out torn muscles and sinews in the bloody mess, but by the amount of bleeding, the tusks seemed to have missed any major blood vessels.   
„Gnarl, how quickly can you send a Gate to the place? This Minion needs Mortis' aid as soon as possible.“ And looking at the dead boars, he would also be glad to eat something for dinner that was not mutton.  
„You don't have to detain yourself, your Minions are pretty robust blighters. And even if they encounter something they can't recover from themselves, they are happy to die for you while serving.“  
„Gnarl, dying from something that is entirely preventable is useless. And uselessness displeases me greatly.“  
„Grubby can send a Gate in less than two minutes,“ came the rushed answer. It seems like Orell had now found a method to put some pressure onto his sometimes unruly advisor.  
  
After they had left the dead boars and the injured Minion behind, the rest of the travel to the west was eventless, aside from the occasional stepping into morass. They didn't encounter any more boars, only a huge moose that was fleeing in the distance, and the howling of the wolves always stayed out of reach. Much to Orell's delight, the ground became more solid after the terrain started to rise and they left the depression most of the forest they crossed was situated in. The forest also began to thin out, now they were entering a more hilly part of the landscape, and Orell did notice the faint smell of sulphur in between the resin of the trees, a smell not dissimilar from that of the Netherworld. They must be close to their goal.  
Passing between two low, wooded hills, Orell and his horde reached a clear-cut space with a burned hut in its middle. The grass around it bore several scorch marks and the wood of the hut was still glowing orange in some parts. The scene appeared as if one of the long-forgotten dragons had struck. As Orell stepped forwards to investigate the scene, a man came running from behind the hut, his hands over his head and loudly wailing.  
„My home, my beautiful home, what did those monsters do to you, aargh...“  
Then he noticed Orell and the Minions, who had stopped.  
„You there!“ he shouted with a finger pointing at the group. „You look like someone who can take care of them! Please help me!“  
Orell was pretty surprised by the man's very... direct approach. „May I know what happened here first?“  
„Yes, the demons from the smoking mountain happened! They came at night, stole all my sheep and burned down my house! And then they ran away!“ He jabbed his finger to his left.   
„Smoking mountain you say; how did the demons look like?“  
„Like, like your friends there! Only with horns and breathing fire.“ He took a closer look at the Minions. „Are you some kind of tamer of these things, performing with them in a circus?“  
Orell decided to play along with the man's assumptions. „Yes, the little unruly bastards escaped me a long time ago and I want to get them back.“  
The man looked at Orell with a crooked face. „Give them all a good spanking for doing that to my house. Can you maybe leave some of them here to fix the damages they have done?“  
„What audacity! Thinking your Minions are some kind of working commodity to borrow,“ Gnarl complained through the Shroud.  
„I will see when I get them back. If they burned your house down, they probably will not be good at rebuilding it.“ With this, Orell walked into the direction the man had pointed at. It was pretty clear to him that this man was a bit strange in the head. He would think later what to do with him, the best way was probably to send him to Faairdal, considering in what part of Nordberg he lived all alone.  
Orell headed to a larger hill, bare of trees, to have a look at the further surroundings. At the top, he could see his goal: the largest hill in the landscape, devoid of any vegetation, fuming, with strangely off-colour rocks and a blunt peak. He also noticed that all the surrounding hills were situated at the flank of the volcano, as if the whole area had risen during its formation. He walked down the other side of the hill, heading for the large, discoloured flank of the volcano that rose before him. Soon, the last crippled trees and mangy bushels of grass were left behind him and were replaced by bare sharp rock splinters with the only cover the landscape provided being the large boulders and rock slabs.  
Finding a place where to look for the Red Minions was both an easy and hard task. The volcano flank was full of nooks and crannies, with small holes in the ground and under the stone slabs, none of them being big enough for Orell to fit in. It looked doubtful that many of them led to a cave system; in some of them he could hear water bubbling while others emitted white fumes that stank of rotten eggs. The Minions seemed to find this hilarious, snickering and occasionally making farting noises.  
With the sharp rock splinters gritting under his boots, Orell walked clockwise around the base of the volcano on the search for clues where the Red Minions were. He was planning to spiral up the cone, saving up the crater for the end. Whether this was the best or worst way to look, he wasn't sure. The Minions slowly started to grumble and several of them were limping and leaving bloody footprints behind, having cut themselves on the shards of natural glass. Thinking about how he might have to ask Gnarl for a Gate to replace the Minions, he encountered something he didn't expect.  
In an area the rock splinters have been swept away to reveal the porous ground underneath he found several bones and a discarded mug, distributed around the remains of a campfire. He didn't know much about the Red Minions, but he was pretty sure they didn't camp like that.   
„Looks like someone else is here, too, I wonder why. Look out for other such traces, Master, maybe you can find the solution to this puzzle.“  
„I will just hope they don't want to interfere with my work here.“ Orell got up from the abandoned campfire. He had a faint suspicion of who the originators were.  
„Master! Master!“ one of the Minions that had wandered away while Orell was looking at the fireplace came half-running, half-stumbling from around a large boulder. „Me found cave!“  
Orell's mood, that was darkened by the thoughts on the unexpected visitors of the volcano, lightened up immensely. He immediately followed the Minion that sprinted off again to show him the way, and indeed, there was a gaping black opening in the volcano's flank at the end of a faint trail. Orell was pretty sure this was the right way, as the trail indicated an extensive use of the cave.  
„You can pick the shards out of your feet inside,“ he grinned. „Our search has ended.“

After a rest in the cave's entrance, exchanging the Minions with cut feet with uninjured ones, and ordering a few torches and water bags from Gnarl, which were sent over a Minion Gate, they went deeper into the darkness. The smell of the volcano's gases was stronger inside, being carried out in a constant stream of air, and Orell was pretty sure the temperature was rising the deeper they went. The cave itself was a round tube with smooth walls, looking like the burrow of a gigantic, stone-eating earthworm. While this tunnel was hardly looking natural, Orell sincerely hoped it was not created by such a creature. The fact the ceiling bore a few stalagtites that seemed to have formed from the same material as the walls themselves calmed him down in that regard; if this was a burrow, the creature that dug the tunnel must have left it a long time ago.   
Orell started to walk more slowly when he spotted something unusual ahead. As he got closer, he noticed that it was a creature, very similar-looking to the Browns, but of a bright, blood-red colour and a yellow underside. Blunt bony nubs were on several parts of the body, like the elbows or running along the back, which ended in a thin tail with an arrow-shaped tip. The creature looked smaller and scrawnier than the Browns behind Orell. The head with long, curled horns lay on the other side of the tunnel, having been severed with a clean cut from the shoulders and the area between the head and rest of the body was splattered with blood.  
„Looks like these pig posteriors loitering around here are going after your Minions! Quick, Sire, find them and punish them for killing what is rightfully yours!“ Gnarl shouted at the other end of the connection.  
Without having Gnarl to finish, Orell already rushed further down the cave, his anger having gotten a hold on him. Now, he knew exactly who the causers of the campfire outside were. And if there was one thing he loathed, it were paladins, the fanatical backbone of Aurenthuria's army.  
Ahead, for some reason, Orell could see light. Whatever source it had, it didn't look like torchlight or the glowing blue crystals the richer citizens of Aurenthuria sometimes used. Orell told the Minions carrying the torches to stay behind and only to return to him when he called for them or when someone or something neared them from the outside, then he walked ahead with the rest of the Minions. The light source turned out to come from a larger cavern, which had green mushrooms and violet molds illuminating it, and some of the cracks and holes in the walls had the orange glow of lava showing. In contrary to the smoothness of the tunnel's walls, the cavern seemed to be built into a rock that was formed by polygonal pillars, with an uneven ground of the pillars being broken off at different heights and some of the pillar groups still being intact, reaching to the equally uneven ceiling. The temperature in this cavern was reaching uncomfortable levels; Orell felt like he would have his clothes glued to his skin at the end of the day. He looked around for signs of the paladins, and found the carcass of a large, red-brown and spiny toad next to a stone pillar. As he neared it to take a closer look, he heard voices that were definitely not coming from his babbling Minions.  
„Master! Mas-“ The rest of the word got drowned out in a fit of coughing. Orell spun around to the source, fearing the speaker had been killed in mid-sentence, but instead of finding a paladin with a bloodied sword, he saw a living specimen of the Red Minions running up to him. More of them followed the first Minion. They stared up at him with an expression he didn't recall to have seen in Minions so far - fear.  
„Master, shinies came to get us! Kill anything they see on their way into volcano,“ one of them said.  
„Sire, this is grave news. The Reds probably have their Hive hidden deep in the volcano, should the paladins reach it before you do, spawning and controlling your Reds will be a lot more tedious and slow.“ In a more self-satisfied voice Gnarl added: „Your Reds will come in handy. Being the walking cans paladins are, setting them on fire from a distance is a very good way to get rid of them.“  
„Do you know in what direction the paladins went? Can you lead me to them?“ Orell addressed the group of Reds.   
The Red that ran up to him first looked frantically around. „Can... *cough* can show you shortcut. Shinies took long route around outside.“  
Orell was not very sure what „outside“ meant in the Red's case, but a shortcut sounded promising. Paladins were known for their fighting prowess and as long as he couldn't vastly outnumber them, tactics would have to be used.  
„Show me the way, then,“ he said while mentally calling the Minions with the torches back.  
  
The torches came into use soon, as the Reds led Orell and the Brown Minions into another tunnel that branched out from the polygonal pillar chamber. Orell commanded his Minions to be quiet when he heard something ahead. It sounded like a deep, bellowing croaking. Walking ahead of the Minions, he recognized the source as one of the reddish toads he did see earlier. Many others of the toads were sitting on the ground and the walls of the tunnel.  
„Sire, these fire-bellied toads are a great source for red lifeforce. You might not be able to spawn Red Minions yet, as you don't have control of their Hive, but stocking up on it beforehand would be a good idea, it would save the soles of your boots to look for it later. The amber gem can store it for you.“  
Orell had never seen such toads before. „Gnarl, do these fire-bellied toads pose any danger?“  
„They can procure a blast of fire when threatened, but it has a short range and it is easy to avoid because they will puff up beforehand. But they are too small to be of real danger, they are not capable to do more than singe away a few hairs.“  
With an outstretched left hand, Orell ordered the Minions to attack. They shot forwards with great enthusiasm and began to stab and club the toads that jumped around in a panic. The Reds quickly accompanied the Browns, spewing out a viscous, burning substance they flung at the toads on the walls and attacking the toads on the ground with their bare claws while laughing maniacally. The laughter intensified as the toads jumped into every direction while trying to escape the Minions, jumping on their heads and backs, and several Minions collided while chasing different amphibians.  
Orell held himself out of the mess, the toads were way too small and fast to prevent him from hitting one of his Minions on accident. Instead, he followed the mess of slashing, stabbing, clubbing, burning and exploding as the Minions drove the toads forwards, into an intersection, where the tunnel widened and split up into two. Most of the toads were dead by now, some of them having exploded in little mushroom clouds of fire and innards.   
The Minions chased the remaining toads around the widened part of the tunnel, when Orell heard the deep croaking again, coming from the right of the two tunnels. Then, a dark red scheme shot out of the tunnel and slammed into the group of Minions, which were flung back by the impact. Even Orell could feel the ground shaking at the place he stood. The scheme turned out to be a fire-bellied toad at the size of a cow, with long, curved spikes running along its head and back, deep golden eyes with horizontal pupils and bulging muscles underneath the warty skin. One of its thick forelegs was pinning down a frantically screaming Brown. Before Orell or any of the Minions regained their composure, the toad's head turned down and the jaws closed around the Minion's head. The cracking of bones was audible, then the toad began to forward the twitching body into its mouth, pushing it down the throat with the help of its arms.   
Orell was furious at the change of events. With a rough gesture, he ordered the Minions to attack the creature, then stormed forwards himself. The toad hadn't finished its meal when the first weapons began to tear into its thick skin. It kicked out to the behind, flinging several Minions away and quickly retreated, gaining enough peace in the fight to finally swallow its prey. Shortly before Orell could reach the toad and attack it himself, he noticed the toad inflating. Remembering what Gnarl had said about these creatures, he quickly called back his Minions and rushed back himself. The walls of the cave were suddenly much more bright and the chamber got even hotter as the toad opened its mouth to spew out a large fireball. Two of the Browns started screaming and running around in a panic when their backs were suddenly on fire, but the three Reds that were engulfed in the flame suffered absolutely no ill effects. Some of them even chased down the Browns on fire and when the Reds put the hands into the flames, they ceased. It appeared like the fire was pulled towards their arms, which briefly flashed up in a faint, yellow light. Orell was glad that the leather of his armour was hard to set on fire, but the smell of burned hair told him this was not true for his eyebrows.  
As soon as the blast extinguished, Orell sent the Minions on the toad again, mentally ordering them to stay in motion to prevent themselves from being pinned down by the toad and swallowed. Still, it managed to lunge forward and pinned down a Red Minion this time. Orell stormed into the mass of Minions and swung his sword at the distracted toad's head. The first strike hit one of its horns without leaving actual damage, with the second, better aimed one, he managed to hit the spongy area behind the ear. Blood and a milky substance shot out of the shallow cut. As a reaction, the toad let go of the Minion, croaked and jumped at Orell, taking him off his feet. Seemingly unable to gauge its opponent's size, the toad opened its mouth and drew closer. Not waiting for the amphibian to do the same as it did with the Brown before, Orell took his chance and plunged his sword into the toad's open mouth, straight between the dark bulges of its eyes. The toad stumbled back, spitting and trying to dislodge the sword stuck in its mouth. The Minions, agitated by the attack on their master, intensified their hacking and stabbing, one of the Browns focusing on the wound Orell had struck managed to drive his dagger deep into the toad's head. With a final croak, the creature collapsed.  
Orell got up from the rough ground and walked to the large carcass to retrieve the sword.  
„Too small to be of real danger, Gnarl?“ he shouted as he yanked the weapon out.  
„I do deeply apologize for this mistake, Master, but I myself didn't know fire-bellied toads can grow to this size,“ Gnarl answered. „It seems like the remains of the Sanctuary's magic combined with the cozy environment lets them grow to the size of Evernightian swamp toads. Let's hope this one was rather the exception than the rule.“  
Orell looked at the two tunnels ahead, as the Minions ran around between the dead toads and extracted the lifeforce. If the toads did grow to such sizes in the volcano caves, this might be also true for other creatures. And Orell suspected the toads and Red Minions were not the only inhabitants of the volcano.  
  
To his luck, the Reds led them into the left tunnel and not in the one the giant toad had come from, and they didn't see any more toads, be it the normal-sized or the giant ones. Following the rising of the tunnel, they reached another chamber of stone pillars, much smaller this time. They walked over fallen pillars and past holes in the ground, until they reached a hole in the wall. The Red Minion that led the whole group looked at it, then back and his ears dropped as he realized. Unfortunately, the hole was too small for Orell to fit through. The other Reds grew nervous as well.  
„You brimstone-shitting imbeciles! You could have thought about your Master not fitting into the same holes you use earlier!“ Gnarl raged through the Shroud. „Well, that's what you get for not thinking for these sheep-brains. But I do have an idea, oh yes. Did you lot see some of the Netherworld rocks around here, in reach?“  
The Red's face lit up and he sprinted off into the direction of a larger tunnel in the chamber, the other Minions and Orell quickly following.   
„How will Netherworld rocks help me to get through?“ he asked Gnarl on the way.  
„Oh, Sire, you will see, I don't want to spoil it for you, hehe...“  
Orell shrugged. The way Gnarl said it the function of the Netherworld rocks would probably be something vile and evil, but he had no other choice, aside from running the whole way back and possibly losing the Red Hive in the process. The tunnel ended in a round platform made of soldified lava that led into a large granite cave, which seemingly was there before the formation of the volcano. The density of glowing fungi was much higher than in any part of the volcano he had seen and large, strange insects scuttled away.   
The Minions halted and stepped aside, making it clear that they expected Orell to take lead. In the middle of the cave, in between the glowing fungi and bizarre plants that were able to thrive in their light, was a block of a familiar, violet-black material. As Orell stepped closer to examine it, he heard a rumble and the rock rose until it was taller than him. The tip broke apart and the pieces rearranged themselves into something that resembled a five-fingered, open claw, which slowly spun on its pillar. Unsure what to do with it, Orell stepped back and saw how the Minions ran past him, to the Netherworld rock structure. One of the larger Reds jumped up to the structure's crown in one leap and cheered, while the other Red Minions started to run in a circle around the structure, regularly raising and lowering their arms like in a sort of ritual. The Brown Minions remained behind, watching the scene with interest.  
„Now, Sire, focus on the Minion on top of the pillar and raise your left hand. The device will take care of the rest.“  
Orell suspected it was some kind of magic that required a blood sacrifice. The claw form that might be capable of crushing the sacrifice would support his theory, but what sense would it make to sacrifice a Minion of importance, if a weaker one could serve the same purpose? The creature also looked way too happy for dying in the next few moments. He decided that trying it out was the only way to learn what the Netherworld rock pillar did.  
The moment Orell raised his arm to activate the pillar's magic, he felt a strong pull forwards, not on his body, but his entirety of senses. Feeling the spell had gone wrong and wanting to retreat, he noticed he could not move. The next moment it felt like his mind was ripped out of his body and he felt nothing anymore.   
After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, his senses returned. Out of his mind's control, he sensed himself jumping and landing on the ground an altitude lower, where he felt the rough rock and plants under his feet.  
He did wear boots the last time.  
While his senses slowly returned, they registered a body that was not familiar to him. His limbs felt all wrong and there were parts he never has been aware of. The near-unbearably hot air felt only lukewarm now, sounds were far louder than before and his eyes registered colours he was not aware of, while everything appeared much brighter and sharper in contrast.  
 _What had happened?_  
The Red Minions that were dancing around the pillar ran towards him. Suddenly, they seemed a lot larger than usual, their faces being at eye height. He began to realize what happened when he saw himself, motionlessly hanging in the air while arcs of magic shot between his body and the pillar. Looking at his own hands, he saw they were bright red and bore only four fingers that ended in dark, sharp claws.  
He didn't sacrifice the Minion. He _was_ the Minion.  
Then, there were the memories that were not his own. Where the Red Minions had looked all the same to him before, now he could see the differences clear as a day. Different sizes, facial proportions, horn lengths and shapes. Connected with the individual faces there were names and memories, different for each.  
„Well, Master, that possession went smoothly, didn't it?“ Gnarls voice rang from two places at once, one being near Orell's twitching ears, the other from the body that was suspended in mid-air. „In this shape you can follow the Reds effortlessly. But remember, in this body you are far less durable, and while dying during a possession does only draw your mind back to your original body, trust me, it does not feel pleasant. In the meantime, your Browns will stay here and guard your body from any potential attackers.“   
„Gnarl, you could have told me earlier what this rock does, it would have saved my nerves,“ Orell shouted with an unfamiliarly high-pitched, rough voice. Even the simple process of talking felt weird, it was like there were far more joints involved to move his mouth. He suppressed a cough, as the shouting felt very unpleasant on his throat.  
Not wanting to discuss the matter with Gnarl further right now, he focused on the Reds instead and told them to continue their way on intercepting the paladins. He took a short glance at the Browns with the torches and the water bags, but looking into the tunnel ahead he could still see the details that had looked pitch-black before and he didn't feel thirsty any more. The additional cargo would only weigh them down and the torches would give them away to the paladins. Besides, the Red Minions lived in the volcano caves for who knows how long and they didn't use any light sources.  
Walking in this foreign body was awkward. There were different muscles being used for moving and the tail played an important role in keeping the balance of this awkwardly-proportioned body. Orell tried not to think too much of it; it made him stumble. Relying on the instincts that came along with the body was the best he could do in this regard.  
When they entered the pillar chamber and from there the small hole Orell couldn't fit through with his normal body, he was glad he didn't take anything additional with him, as all four limbs were busy with moving through the convoluted passage. In one moment, he had to climb a rough basalt wall to reach a crack far over his head, the next moment he had to jump over a chasm even his new eyes couldn't make out the bottom of. Both felt surprisingly easy for him, his claws held him to the rock pretty well and the distance he could cover with a jump surprised him. After deteriorating inside the dungeons and only recently putting his muscles and bones into use again, this was a welcome change. There was one thing he would be glad to get rid of, though: the Minion's throat felt constantly irritated and he had to regularly cough up a viscous slime.  
 _It is a protection against smoke and the toxic fumes of the lava_ he remembered from the part of a mind that was not his own. There was much more he could remember. He knew that the Minion whose body he currently inhabited was called Farley and the decapitated Red in the tunnel was Fries, a lower-ranked member. He also knew that Farley had a few good friends among the Minions that were currently by the Hive, which had been a strong motivation to offering himself as a vessel for possession. He knew that the tight, convoluted passage would soon open into a smaller magma chamber and from there, into a labyrinth of intersecting tunnels of various sizes.  
The chamber was soon reached and it matched the foreign memories perfectly. While the light from the magma was fairly dim in the passage, the chamber itself was illuminated from below and so bright that Orell was blinded for a moment, after seeing everything in the dark tunnels in shades of grey with a yellowish tinge. Despite being one of the smaller magma chambers, it was still large enough to fit the entirety of Faairdal at least twice. The smell of sulphur was the strongest here, much more penetrant than in the Netherworld, and despite Orell's sense of logic telling him that he should have caught fire by now from the radiating heat alone, it only felt very warm and actually pleasant. A lake of lava was bubbling in the bottom of the room, twenty to thirty metres below him and the Minions. The only way to cross the chamber was by a narrow ledge that led clockwise to a dark hole in the chamber's wall. The Red Minions, not bothered by the height or the loose rocks on the ledge, walked one after the other over it. Orell was the sixth in line.  
Just the moment he wondered whether he could survive falling off the ledge into the lava, his answer came in a very unexpected form. A large, black creature snaked itself through the molten rock, armoured, blind and with a yellow tongue flicking out of its mouth in regular intervals. The foreign memories told him that this was a very dangerous and ravenous creature that could eat anything else that called the volcano's caves their home. But they also told him that the ledge was out of the magma serpent's reach. Still, he made a mental note to not to come too close to any body of lava, even if his current body could stand the heat of it.  
  
The glow of the magma chamber had hardly vanished behind their backs as Orell and the Minions stopped dead in their tracks. There were voices ahead and they were not the rasping voices of Minions, but those of men. Directing his flexible ears to the front and moving his head around, Orell could localize the sources to be at his front and slightly to the left, where he also saw the faint, flickering light of a torch.   
„Do not cough or wheeze if you want to survive this. You will not even fart without my permission,“ he hissed at the other Minions, who vigorously nodded; most of them had already become silent when the voices were heard ahead. Then, Orell took lead and carefully moved into the direction the torchlight was flickering on the walls.  
„...I tell you. This artefact they dug out must be destroyed as soon as possible.“  
„Are you even sure it is as evil as Kael believes? It looked like an ordinary stone carving to me.“  
„Silence, rookie! The commander can't be at fault, he could feel the Evil radiating from it.“  
„Could you two please stop bickering? Being cooked in this armour is bad enough without you two constantly lying in my ears.“  
Orell was close enough to see the paladins, through a small opening in the lower wall, which opened into the ceiling of a more spacious tunnel. The paladins were three in number and looked pretty worn from their own trip through the caves. Their once polished and shiny armour was now full of scratches, ash and blood splatters, and they looked visibly tired. Still, the assortment of Red Minions that followed him around was not enough to engage them in direct combat, at least not without major casualties.  
„Now, look at this self-righteousness in cans. If the Browns could have followed you, Lord, turning them into scrap metal would have been no problem, but Red Minions aren't known to stay on their legs long when engaging in close combat. You will have to find ways to crush them without coming too close.“  
Gnarl was right, despite paladins usually being not the brightest, all of them were trained warriors. He could attack them with fire right now, but he was sure there were other connections to the tunnel and the crossbow on the back of one of them would negate the advantage the Minions had with their distance. Since the paladins had walked out of sight, Orell took a turn to the right, looking for another opening. He did find one ahead of the walking paladin group, larger and partially collapsed. The collapse must have happened recently, as there were still faintly glowing cracks in the boulders.  
„Oh great, even more molten rock. As if it's not hot enough already,“ Whiner complained.  
„Ignore the heat, there is Evil to slay ahead!“  
„I would have switched my place with Gerd and be now in the cool air with the carriage on the way to Kael, while he could slay Evil, he looked pretty eager to do it.“  
„Sire, do you think what I think?“ Gnarl interrupted Orell's listening to Whiner and Sir Evilslayer.  
Orell looked around, trying to see what Gnarl was referring to.  
„This boulder to your right, what do you think can be done with it?“ Gnarl continued.  
Now, he could see it, too. The boulder was large, but rather round and it was close to the opening in the tunnel's ceiling. Orell grinned at the thought and waved a few Reds to him, then waited for the paladins to be in the right place. With a single push, the boulder was brought into motion and tumbled down the pile of rocks that reached into the tunnel, breaking apart into smouldering pieces and bringing down several other rocks on its way. The sound of men screaming and the crushing of metal under rock had never been more satisfying to Orell.  
Unfortunately, he quickly had to get out of sight of the connection, as the small avalanche had only buried one of the paladins, but to his luck it was the one with the crossbow.   
„And thus, our good friend and fellow combatant Parson left our world in his quest for glory and the ending of evil to go up into Punarim's light,“ Orell could hear. „Might the light protect and guide you in the afterlife.“  
Orell wasn't sure if this was the whole speech, as the other paladin began to shout: „Look, there are those vile toads ahead!“ and he heard the rattling of armour telling the two remaining men ran ahead to continue with their holy duty. Orell and the Red Minions followed the tunnel in their retreat, to see if there were more possibilities of getting rid of the warriors without engaging them directly. This time, it was a fairly large connection that gave the Minions a front-row view of two paladins mercilessly slaughtering a group of panicked fire-bellied toads. They were too occupied with chasing after the animals to look up, ignoring the futile blasts of fire the toads produced and bringing their swords down again and again.  
Orell decided this was the moment to attack directly. He tried to recall the way the Red Minions spat their fire and the process disgusted him greatly, but he needed all firepower he could get now. In a motion that was very similar to vomiting, he brought out a chunk of a thick, oily substance into his hand, which immediately caught fire as it touched the air. Then, with a precision he could not have mustered even in the time before he was thrown into the dungeons, he flung the burning mass at one of the paladins. Immediately, the other Minions started doing the same and began pelting the paladin with fireballs that splattered on the armour and continued to burn.   
First the paladin ignored the fire in his killing frenzy, not differentiating it from the toad blasts, but then he started to scream, dropped his sword and began to claw at his armour, trying to take off the heated plates. His futile attempts to get rid of the metal only encouraged the Reds to throw more fireballs at him and soon, he fell over, cooked inside his own plate mail. The other paladin had noticed what happened to his colleague and ran out of the line of sight, to the wall. He couldn't reach the Reds in the hole with his longsword and it surely must hurt in his heart to let the fleeing toads go.   
„Come out and fight like men, hellborn cowards! I will show the light through the sword to every single one of you!“  
One of the Reds, a scrawny young female named Haze, stretched the head out of the connection to see if the paladin still could be reached. Orell grabbed her by the neck and pulled her inside, then quietly walked along the tunnel and waved the other Reds after him, who silently followed. He hoped the croaking of the frightened toads would mask the fact there were no sounds coming from the connection any more.   
He found yet another, smaller connection ahead, looked out of it and decided he had to bite it. He could see the paladin still standing at the wall, turning them his back and his view focused on the connection they were at before. Lowering himself out of the hole on his long arms like he had seen the Greens do on the day he was freed from the dungeons, Orell covered the remaining distance to the ground of the tunnel in free fall, then slowly and silently moved into the direction of the still shouting paladin, the other Reds following. When they reached firing range, he told them by hand gestures to spread out. As soon as they reached their positions, the still unsuspecting paladin was covered by a rain of fire.  
The fire irritated him more than it hurt him, as the plate mail served a good protection against the splattering substance.  
„Here you are, creatures of the darkness,“ he yelled and swung his sword over his head. The Minions he ran at shot away, while those out of range began to pelt his back with fire. The lone paladin immediately spun around to get at the Reds that attacked his back, only leaving said back open to the ones he just chased. With the Minions being quicker than the armoured, lumbering man, all his strikes only cut air, while the heat of the burning bile did its work. One of the Reds even managed a lucky strike, with a fireball splattering against his visor, making the paladin stop and scream in pain.  
Taking his chance, Orell lunged at the paladin and gave his belt a good yank. He immediately jumped away to prevent himself from being taken down as the man fell and hit the ground with a loud clatter. Disoriented by the fall and blinded by the fire, he was easy prey. Soon, an oddly delicious smell of roasted meat filled the air and Orell had to suppress the desire to tear off the plate and take a bite. A few Reds actually began to tear the plates loose, but thankfully Orell was spared of seeing them eating the man, as they preferred to put the metal plates onto themselves.  
„These were all. Now, to the Hive,“ he told the Reds, still staring at the burning corpse.  
The answer to this was a cry cut short behind his back. Orell spun around, just in time to see a paladin cleaving a Red cleanly in half, then to jump away from the resulting fire explosion, when the fire reserves of the Minion came into contact with air. The other Reds quickly ran out of range of the man's longsword.  
„Yes, now to the Hive, for you monsters can't live without it,“ the newcomer sneered. „Be so kind and show me the way, and you will be rewarded with a quick death.“  
Orell hissed at the sight, as this paladin had a tower shield that would make the fight drawn out much longer than against the other three and the gold ornaments on his armour marked him as a high-ranked member of the order. Even though the paladin was alone, Orell couldn't win this fight without a lot of losses. Retreat was currently the only solution; since the easiest pathway into the upper tunnels over the rock pile where they buried the first paladin was blocked by the man, the only way was forwards, into the unknown.  
 _No, not unknown._  
Assessing the memories of the Minion he possessed, he could tell exactly what was ahead, and he grinned when he got an idea of how to put it into use. Orell let himself fall back, sometimes stopping to throw a fireball into the direction of the paladin, who, as expected, blocked them off with his shield, but he needed the man's attention. Seeing the small hole in the wall which led back into the labyrinth of paths they came from, Orell shouted at the Minions to get inside and stay there. As expected, the paladin tried to reach the fleeing Reds, and since he didn't manage to get to them in time, he focused on the single one that seemingly couldn't get inside and was now retreating further down the tunnel. Orell could practically see the malicious grin behind the paladin's visor.  
„Well, well, looks like one is always too slow. And now, I will do with you everything I had planned to do with the lot of you.“  
„Master, what are you doing? Get your Minions out and roast this walking can!“  
Ignoring Gnarl's words, Orell was just happy that the link could only been heard between him and the Minions, otherwise his advisor might have blown his cover. He took a turn to the right, away from the place he knew the Hive was, towards a chamber where a river of lava flowed through, separating the tunnel, with the only connection being a narrow stone bridge. As he reached the dead end of the lava river's steep shore, Orell slid to a halt and turned around.   
„Looks like your running away ends here, hellborn. I can grant you a swift death, it will be much nicer than burning in that lava.“ The paladin strut forwards, sword and shield out to block any fireballs as well as to prevent Orell from trying to run past him. It was clear that the armour of this paladin was augmented with magic, as the heat radiating from the lava river must have cooked him even from this distance. Feigning fear, Orell moved backwards and onto the stone bridge.  
„No, you will not go that way,“ the paladin shouted and lunged forwards. But instead of following Orell onto the stone bridge, he hammered his armoured foot against it, attempting to destroy it and let Orell fall into the lava below. Orell froze, but against his or the paladin's expectations, the bridge remained intact. Seeing this, the paladin followed onto the bridge.  
„Looks like your silly little plan didn't work in the end, magnificently proving how stupid Evil is.“  
Orell was now left without a plan. He remembered the bridge creaking under the Minions' feet, which had led to a decision that only one Minion at a time could cross it. He clearly underestimated the man's intelligence and was now going to pay for it. There was still a chance that he could make the paladin lose his balance on the bridge and fall off it, but this was a risky try.  
„Now you will know that Good will always win, hellborn!“  
The paladin rose his sword to strike at the creature that was seemingly frozen in place from fear and let out a thundering battlecry. This battlecry smoothly transitioned into a cry of fear and then into a cry of pain, as a massive, armoured and eyeless head emerged from the depths of the lava river and closed its jaws around the man. He dropped his sword and it flew away in an arc to land in the lava several metres away when the magma serpent flung the paladin through the air like a doll to maneuver him into its throat and swallowed him, complete with the armour and the tower shield. The moment the serpent's head vanished in the lava again, Orell quickly ran over the bridge and back to the Red Minions he had left behind, before the creature decided to have a dessert. Magma serpents oriented themselves through smell and vibrations, and it was the paladin's stomping that must have attracted the creature.  
„Sire, this was magnificent! Ending that preposterous prattler's life with the aid of the local fauna! I almost hope the armour will not give the snake any indigestion, when did this plan enter your mind?“  
„It didn't,“ was the only answer he gave to Gnarl.  
  
Leading the Minions that he had met close to the entrance into the chamber where the Hive was placed, Orell met a much larger group of them around a faintly glowing structure that appeared like a panicle made from smooth, black rock. The Minions around the Hive looked up alarmed, but quickly relaxed when they recognized the intruders as their own kind. The news that their master has arrived spread quickly and the Minions were giddy with pleasure hearing this. A set of Gates dug itself out of the basalt shortly after. As the Hive was taken off its pedestal and carried over to the Tower Gate to be brought back into the Netherworld, one of the Minions, a specimen of impressive size and long, curled horns known as Igniot and the leader of the Reds, formally bowed down before Orell and thanked him in behalf of all present Minions for protecting them and the Hive from the paladins. Then, Orell heard a rumble and the Red Minion Gate unfolded to reveal its red-glowing centre under the cheers of the Minions, which then started to jump into it, until only Orell and the Reds that had followed him earlier were left in the chamber.   
„Excellent, Sire, with the Hive back in the Barracks, you will be able to summon the Red Minions and create an inferno of fire accompanied by a symphony of screaming anywhere you want.“  
He walked up the irregular steps of the Tower Gate and touched the blue pillar of light, but nothing happened.  
„Gnarl, why is the Gate not working? I need to get out and to the carriage the paladin mentioned as fast as possible, the object they found seems to be something of importance.”  
Orell heard a suppressed snicker on the other end of the magical link. „I think it is because you have forgotten something, Sire.“  
„Why, the Hive is returned, the paladins are dead and their leader is food.“  
„Your body?“  
Orell nearly slapped his forehead when he realized he was still possessing a Minion.


	5. Chasing after shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory hunt for the artefact mentioned in the previous chapter. And while he was at it, Orell also got wolves, a horse and two marauders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, critique is appreciated.

Being in his original body again, Orell felt just as awkward as at the first moments he had possessed the Red. Now, he was way too tall, his legs felt too long and walking without a tail to counterbalance felt strange, despite him having had one for two hours at most in his entire lifetime. Looking at the Minions, which were now at waist height again, he noticed he couldn't tell a difference between the Reds anymore. The foreign memories he used to recognize them felt like a dream to Orell - while he could recall them clearly before during the possession, they slipped out of his mind and were quickly forgotten the moment he awoke in his original body.  
But the most annoying part was the lack of heat resistance; his clothes were all but glued to his skin and the temperature made it hard to breathe. The first thing Orell did after the possession was to go to one of the Browns and finish the entire waterbag he held. Handing the empty bag to the Minion, he asked Gnarl for two Gates, one in the cavern with the Possession Stone and the other as close to the carriage as possible.  
„I am sure the artefact the paladins uncovered is one of our Tower objects, Lord, “Gnarl said during the minutes it took for the Gate to arrive. „Saving it from these walking cans is of utmost importance, as the Tower objects create a significant boost to your powers and abilities. My other guess is that it is a Dark Crystal, which are very valuable for crafting powerful equipment.“  
„Where do you think the carriage would be right now, Gnarl?“ Orell changed the topic when he heard the familiar rumble of a Gate drilling out.  
„Hm, let me see...“ Orell could hear the rustling of parchment through the link. „There is a larger road leading to the northeast, straight to Nordberg that is close to the area the volcano has lifted up, which is the most likely one they took. But because the Netherworld is not fully attuned yet, the Gate will not emerge at a very... precise destination without your presence to guide it.“  
Orell noisily breathed out. „Then we will have to search and risk losing the artefact. Can you try to set up the Gate close to a landmark for better orientation?“  
„I will try, Lord.“  
  
The Gate brought Orell back into a forest. During the stay in the volcano, it must have been raining, as the forest was even wetter than before. The sky was still hidden behind a continuous layer of featureless clouds. After summoning a horde consisting of twelve Browns and five Reds, he headed straight for one of the granite formations poking out of the soil to give Gnarl an overview of the scene and to get walking directions to the road. He heard wolves howling, closer this time than in the wet depression Orell had crossed to reach the volcano.  
„The volcano is now to the westsouthwest and the whaletail ridge to the northwest, Sire. The road will lead behind the whaletail ridge, I suggest you head straight for it.“  
„Are there any other landmarks I can head to, which are further along the road?“  
„Yes, but these landmarks are way too close to Nordberg, which could lead to you possibly having to deal with reinforcements, and with your current level in overlording I would strongly advise against it.“  
Orell gave the ridge a last, annoyed look and then memorized the position of the sun in its relation, before he got off the granite formation. He had to hurry to reach the road, but even now it felt ridiculous to him to catch up to the carriage on foot. If there just were horses in the Netherworld...  
The increased walking speed soon turned into a necessity, as the wet clothing was now drying in the cool air. His Minions seemingly didn't have that problem, even the Browns with more armour pieces looked completely dry as they ran along.   
It appeared like the occasional howling of wolves came closer. Orell preferred not to run into them, as he didn't need any distractions in the form of fights against the local wildlife right now. He failed trying to locate the direction of the sounds' origin, but it appeared like they came from all sides at once and he wasn't sure how many wolves there were. He was so absorbed in his thoughts and in rushing over the uneven ground full of loose rocks that were hidden under the leaf litter that he only now remembered that these wolves could be the solution for the problem. Not bothering with slowing down, he addressed his Minions.  
„Can you locate the wolves?“  
The Browns immediately started to grin from ear to ear and vigorously nodded, then they sped forwards, but remained in Orell's sight. The direction they went for was slightly to the right of the one Orell was heading, so to his luck, not much time would have to be spent to get mounts for the Minions. The Browns appeared to be exhilarated, constantly giggling and gibbering among themselves, while the Reds didn't show the same sentiments, as they remained behind Orell and did not appear nearly as happy as the Browns.  
A pack of six wolves was found in a small depression that was blocked off view by the large trunk of a fallen tree. First the animals were wary and looked hestitant at the grinning creatures running towards them, but they didn't attack, sniffing and licking the Browns' outstretched hands and didn't bother as the first Browns clambered on their backs. One of the wolves even walked up to Orell and started to sniff and lick his leg. Only when it attempted to nip at the leather armour, he stepped back and out of the way of the wolf's teeth.   
„Looks like the wolves already like you, Master. Even if the thing they like most seems to be the smell of your armour,“ Gnarl commented.  
A Brown immediately distracted the overly inquisitive wolf by placing a hand on its neck and mounted it as well. Orell continued the way to the road, letting the mounted Browns close the gap. But rather than staying on their usual positions behind their master, they rode ahead, calling that the 'wolfies' wanted to show something.  
„Come, we are in a hurry!“ To emphasize this, Orell did the callback movement with the gauntlet.  
Only two returned.  
„Master, must see, is good!“ one of the other four called.  
Orell heard the howling of wolves again and assumed they just found another pack ahead. He followed the mounted Browns, since more wolves meant a higher chance of his plan in stopping the carriage succeeding. This time they led him even further to the right of the original path to the whaletail ridge.  
They arrived in an old, given-up shist quarry, where pines were digging their roots into the layered rock. Even more grey and brown faces looked up at Orell and the Minions, but strangely, the Browns didn't run out and picked themselves a mount like they did before. Irritated by the Minions wasting his time, he wanted to turn away and go, but then he saw something unexpected.  
Two wolves, larger than any in the quarry or those currently ridden by his Browns, jumped down the shist slabs protruding from the quarry's walls and the other wolves at the bottom stepped aside to let them through to Orell and the Minions. But the strangest part about these wolves were their riders.   
The left wolf, by far the largest, carried a large, muscular Brown Minion who wore a shaggy fur mantle, crowned off by a deer skull complete with antlers. In his hand was a dangerous-looking spear with a serrated flint blade. The Brown on the other wolf was smaller, but no less extraordinary. He was heavily scarred, both ears were cut to half their original length and a piece of his upper jaw was missing, allowing a constant view into his mouth's interior. Between the wolf's coarse fur, Orell could see several fingers and toes of the Minion were missing. This was so unexpected, he didn't know what to say.   
„Ah, your Browns led you to a few marauders, Master,“ Gnarl interrupted him from his silent staring. „As you know, these are Minions that were separated from the main group around their Hive and had to fend for themselves. They are stronger and smarter than your average Minion and can boost your horde strength with their presence, and I'm sure these two have a good knowledge of the surroundings, being able to show you the fastest way to the road. The one with missing bits to the right is Chasm, a veteran from your predecessor's time.“  
The Brown addressed as Chasm frowned at Gnarl's introduction and spoke himself as soon as the link was silent.  
„Me and Canis greet you, Master. We have awaited you,“ Chasm spoke with a noticeable lisp because of the damage on his upper jaw. „We will serve you like we did serve the Master before you, until our deaths,“ he added with a bow. The larger Minion he referred to as Canis snorted, but his face was not unfriendly.  
„Welcome back,“ Orell answered. „I will let the Browns get mounted, then you can show me the fastest way to the road.“   
There was a nearly unnoticeable nod from Canis and the previously hesitant Browns ran out, each getting onto the back of a wolf. As soon as they were ready, the two marauders rode ahead, into a direction Orell didn't expect.  
„Hm, looks like they are going to intercept the road further to the north, Sire. This will more than make up for the distractions.“  
  
The road was reached in ten minutes. To Orell's surprise, it was neither covered in cobblestones laid out in Aurenthurian fashion nor were there the irregular-shaped cobblestones with raised rims at the border of the road as it was typical for the older roads of the Vainglorious Empire. Instead, most of the road was mud, with rounded cobblestones visible only in some places underneath the muck. This road must date before the rise of the Vainglorious Empire and it had been little cared for, possibly because the rise of the volcano had damaged it to the point the people switched to other roads. For Orell, this was like a godsend, as the soft, rain-soaked mud clearly showed the trail the paladin carriage had left. Examining the hoofprints of the horses, he also noticed that they were going slower than he expected, possibly also because of the mud and irregular cobblestones underneath. Suddenly, the task at hand looked much more manageable than it did before. Orell gathered the mounted Browns around himself.  
„Chasm, you and five Browns, go ahead and find the carriage. Try to stop it or coax it back the way it came from, don't try to fight any mounted paladins you encounter. If you don't find it before Nordberg comes into sight, then return. The rest of us will move into your direction and take care of any resistance they offer, your task is only to move them back or stop them.“ As soon as the six Minions ran along the road, following the carriage's trail, Orell addressed the other Minions. „You lot, go to the other side of the road and into the forest, just deep enough you are not immediately spotted between the trees and bushes. If you see the carriage, attack it only when I order it. The rest goes with me.“  
The Browns sent out returned with the carriage faster than expected. First, Orell and the Minions with him heard a panicked whinny in the distance, then the occasional hammering of hooves on rock that quickly grew louder. Orell only had enough time to order the Minions to stop and prepare for the attack, before the carriage thundered into sight, flanked by barking wolves. The two brown horses were out of control in their panic, with a coachman barely holding onto the carriage and desperately pulling at the reigns.  
Orell silently commanded the Minions to attack and they immediately stormed onto the street. It were the two horses that stopped the carriage, being spooked by the sudden attackers coming from the front and sides, they bumped into each other and slipped on the mud. Downed and tangled in the reigns and tethers, the horses were unable to get up again and were left to thrash and scream in their panic.  
„Don't hurt the horses! Attack the wheels first! Reds, no fire!“ Orell shouted after the Minions and descended himself onto the road. A few of them changed their course and soon, the first stone hammer crashed into the spokes. The wood creaked and the carriage fell to the ground, mostly intact but unable to move. Two paladins jumped out of the carriage's back, their swords drawn, but the muddy road proved to be a challenge as the first was knocked over by a wolf rider while the second slipped by himself in the mud. Both died quickly once they were down, stabbed into their armours' crevices by the various weapons the Browns carried.   
Orell arrived at the carriage's backside to the last gurgling breath of one of the paladins. Pulling back the heavy curtains that covered the opening, he looked inside and saw... nothing. He immediately knew what that meant.  
„These holy pillbugs used an empty carriage as a distraction!“ Gnarl shared his sentiment. „Quick, Sire, get the information about the artefact's location out of the coachman before your Minions turn him into a mud idol!“  
The coachman was running around on the carriage's roof while the Minions were flinging mud at him. Being unable to use their fire, the Red Minions had quickly resorted to this improvisation, and the Browns quickly followed suit, not wanting to be left out of the fun. Orell gave them a mental command to stop attacking, but he didn't make them return to his side.  
„Where is the artefact the paladins are bringing to Nordberg?“ he shouted at the frightened man.  
„Like I will tell you anything, demon!“  
With a mental command, the Minions began to fling mud at the coachman again, more enthusiastically than before. One of the older Reds managed a lucky shot into his face, and slipping on the mud that had accumulated on the carriage's roof, the coachman fell down, splattering several of the Minions standing close with mire. The first thing he saw as he wiped the mud out of his eyes was the tip of Orell's sword hovering close to his nose.  
„Will you tell it now?“  
The man's face was twitching, showing the beginnings of multiple expressions in rapid succession, before he spoke.   
„As if you will reach them, they went up the Sundog's Road and are surely in the confines of Nordberg already, away from louts like you! And that demonic circle is going to be purged, so you won't be able to perform any of your demonic rituals ag-“  
Orell shut him up with a kick to the ribs, ordered the Minions to follow and walked away.  
„That's a road close by, Master, to the east from here. If they move as quickly as this carriage did, catching up with them will be easy.“  
He went to the horses, which had grown silent, not paying any attention to the coachman any more. The man tentatively scrambled up, did a few steps, and after seeing that the Minions were ignoring him, he ran like they were still behind him.  
„Sire, do you think it is such a good idea to let that fool run? Given he reports this incident to the paladins, which he likely will, you might run into some unpleasant resistance much sooner than if he was not to tell anything, preferably by being dead.“  
„He was an unarmed civilian,“ Orell answered while he began to cut the tethers of the horses. „Also, given he reaches Nordberg, considering the wolves around, and given they believe him the story of mud-flinging demons attacking the carriage.“   
Orell told the wolf-riders to step back, before he cut the last remaining tethers that connected the horse to the carriage. One hand on the remains of the reigns and the other hand stroking the horse's neck, he allowed the animal to rise onto its hooves again. The horse remained docile in Orell's hands, but it was far from being calm, the white of its eyes showing. The other horse kicked itself free from the cut tethers and fled into the same direction the coachman did. Orell noticed how the horse he held by the reigns was on the verge to do the same and began to calmly talk into its ear, continuing to stroke its neck. When he saw the horse was calm enough, he carefully got onto its back. The artefact might be further ahead, but now he certainly had a speed advantage over the heavy carriage.  
  
In this day, a lot in the Forge had changed. First, it was a smaller one of the creatures that tapped on Giblet's shoulder and quietly told him something. Giblet got so excited that Ingrid thought he would faint, and wondered what happened. Before she could ask him, a bunch of creatures appeared, different ones which were bright red, smaller and sporting horns that were very reminiscent of the sheep that were everywhere in Nordberg. One of them literally flew into Giblet's arms and many others looked overjoyed as well. A few of them were standing behind and not participating in something that looked to Ingrid like a reunion. Later, Giblet explained that these were the Reds he needed to be able to use the tempering oven and several other forging tools. He was so glad that a good portion of the Reds that had worked in the Forge did make it.  
From there, the workflow significantly changed. The glowing embers were thrown out of the hearth and down into the abyss. The Reds vomited a flaming substance into the hearth's confines and a metal grid was placed over it, on which the metal billets were placed to heat up. Giblet was now spending less time with walking around to get the different things he needed, instead he ordered his new helpers to do it for him, which were able to pick up the glowing metal with their bare hands. A larger group of them was busy with pulling the tempering oven from the stash in the corner and setting it up. Ingrid looked on with interest as they put the roughly hammered-out pieces into the oven, while they fanned the flames in a hatch at the oven's rear. Then, the first batch of pieces was in the oven and the heavy door was screwed shut. While Ingrid has never seen a tempering oven in action, she knew that the process lasted for many hours, until all the damage the metal took while being bent and hammered was cooked out. The arrival of one of the creatures with a basket calling for the food break was when she took her eyes off the oven.  
Some time later, she noticed something wrong with the soundscape. While she listened, it was evident that the off sound were the hammer blows, coming at more irregular intervals and not sounding as energetic as usual. A quick glance at Giblet told even more. He had been swinging the hammer nearly without a break the whole day and probably stayed up the entire night while setting the forge tools up, and it was showing.  
„Giblet,“ Ingrid addressed him, „you need a break.“  
The hammering stopped and Giblet looked at her. „Giblet need to finish armour soon as possible, Mastah needs it.“ Even his voice sounded tired.  
Ingrid got up from her corner and walked to the forgemaster. „You are tired, in this state the armour will not be as good.“ She hit the right spot, Giblet was now tilting an ear.  
„I can take over for you. I am familiar with my own tools and I've seen that the new fuel in the hearth heats the metal up faster.“ She took a look at the anvil and the singed parchments lying close to it, which showed rough coal drawings of the pieces that were to be forged. „And I can decipher your drawings.“  
Giblet looked away and said „Mastah will not be happy,“ with drooping ears. But then he raised the welding mask and looked straight at her. „Other Minions will watching you. But likely no helping with forge, not trusting enough.“  
Then, he handed her the welding mask and the hammer. Putting on the mask she noticed it fit awfully, being made for a skull much longer and broader than hers, but the tainted glass protected her eyes from the fierce glow of the metal. Ingrid would have looked for her own mask, but she was not even sure if the Minions took the mask down here. Pulling on a pair of her leather gloves she found in a bucket, she gripped the half-finished metal piece and began to hammer on it.  
 _It would be so easy._  
Working in a little bit of sulphur would destabilize the metal and let it break in the most unfortunate moment in battle, ridding the world of a rising evil. She might be able to sneak it in even under the watchful eyes of the Minions around. But she knew that the Minions could easily blame her for tampering with the armour pieces and they hardly would stop existing when their master was gone.  
That, and she didn't have any sulphur at hand.   
Instead, she would have to give her best, because this was the perfect situation where she could make herself trustworthy, both to the Minions and to their master. If he knew what she was doing and if the Minions could vouch for her work being good and honest, he might listen to her. And then, she could restore Nordberg's culture to its former glory.  
As Ingrid hammered away at the metal piece, she could hear Giblet's snoring rising from the corner where the old forge equipment was stored.  
  
They were now going much faster, despite Orell having to be careful in the uneven terrain; one wrong step on a loose rock or into a hidden crevice and the horse might have a broken leg. The horse was of a small and shaggy breed, not like the white, big and elegant horses the paladins used. Orell wasn't sure if there were any horse breeds native to Nordberg, but the ones used to pull the carriage wouldn't have looked out of place in this untamed, rocky environment. He was a bit envious of the Browns' wolves, who leapt across the rocks at far greater speeds, but the highest speed he could reach himself right now was that of the Red Minions who ran along, at the end of the assemblage. Even though Orell heard coughing and wheezing occasionally, the Reds didn't slow down.  
There was another thing bothering him on the ride other than the dangerous terrain. It was the fact the paladins used a decoy carriage for the transport of the artefact. Nordberg has been in Aurenthuria's hands for decades and was a fairly quiet province, not the kind of place where bandits or monsters were waiting behind every turn. It was as if they knew someone might try to steal it...  
Everyone reached the road safely. In this case, there was no mud layer on the road to determine the recent passing of a carriage, as this was a well-maintained road from the Vainglorious Empire's reign. Judging by the time they took and the direction of the road, Orell swerved to the left and turned his back to the faint sun that was barely visible behind the clouds.  
Focused on the road and its potential travellers ahead, Orell nearly missed the carriage. He spotted it from the corner of an eye, standing next to a roadside inn, the horses untethered and nowhere to be seen, probably being brought to the inn's stables. This sight was so unusual Orell had to stop and stare at the carriage for a good minute. Considering the decoy carriage they had stopped had two paladins aboard additionally to the local coachman and with this one having likely the same provisions, the paladins present would have not allowed a stop at an inn, not at this time of day. Looking into the carriage, he saw it was empty, but it was unlikely the paladins had left the artefact outside, unattended. They must have taken it into one of the buildings.  
Orell dismounted and tied the horse to a fence pole, then waved the Brown Minions to his side, while the panting Reds remained by the horse. The horse shied away from the wolves, but it was much easier around them than before. He opened the inn's door abruptly and barged inside.  
The inn was almost empty, save for the innkeeper, a peasant in a corner and the two paladins in the middle. Both had taken their helmets and gauntlets off and were sharing a table, a frothy mug on each side. They stared Orell and the Minions with open mouths.  
„Paladins drinking on duty, now that is unexpected,“ Gnarl commented, ambiguous on whether this was sarcasm or not.   
The right paladin was the first one who regained his senses, he jumped up from the chair, stumbled and then ran to the swords leaned at the inn's wall. The left paladin followed shortly after.   
The wolf riders were faster.  
The first paladin fell when Canis' wolf knocked him down from behind and the flint spear pierced his exposed neck. The second managed to reach his sword, he turned around to strike, but the ale made him slow. The sword was deflected by a mace and then he was pulled down, screaming while the wolves swamped him and their jaws found their ways into his armour's crevices. Orell paid no heed to the killing and focused on the dumbfounded innkeeper instead.   
„The paladins transported an object in their carriage they have taken from me. Can you tell me where they hid it?“  
The innkeeper, completely perplexed by the recent events, just pointed to the right, into the direction of an alcove. Looking inside, Orell could see the object wrapped in white canvas lying on several bales of straw. From what he could see, it was disc-shaped and of a similar diameter like the carriage's wheels. Judging by the piece poking out of the fabric, it appeared like it was carved out of stone.  
„What do my eyes spy there? That looks like a Spellstone, Master, a very valuable Tower artefact that will allow you to use magic! Quick, Sire, order your Minions to take it outside and see what Spellstone it is!“  
Magic.  
Magic was one of the things Orell never cared much for. He tried to learn it once in his younger years, but the impoverished roadside wizard who offered simple lessons to anyone willing told Orell that he had less magic in him than a door case and from then on Orell gave it up completely, focusing on swordfighting and books instead. The prospect of being able to use it in the end felt so strange to him.   
The Minions, gibbering with excitement themselves, got off their mounts, picked up the Spellstone and carried it out of the inn's door. Orell followed them.  
When the last of the Minions left the inn, the peasant stared at the door, at the two corpses on the floor and then he gave a long stare at the mug in his hand.   
„I really should stop drinking,“ he said. „The things I start seeing, they are not normal.“  
  
„Oh, this is like an evil Midwinter celebration!“  
The Minions were busy rolling the canvas off the Spellstone, while Gnarl was pouring his excitement out over the Shroud.  
„Maybe it's the Lightning Wall spell or the Dark Halo, I would love to see its effects in action again. Unwrap it faster, you lazy hairballs!“  
The last layer of the canvas came off and Orell could see the object it contained. But judging from Gnarl's reaction, something was terribly wrong with it.  
„Mother Goddess dancing naked in a nunnery! The diseased son of a syphilis-infested lamprey who did this should have his bollocks eaten by gnomes! Served with a side of _fried maggots_!“  
After the rest Orell heard was hyperventilation, he asked what was wrong with the Spellstone.  
„What's wrong? _What's wrong_? This thing is completely _useless_! Some turnip-brained leper smashed the centre out, only leaving the outer ring of it intact! This way, there is only the periphery left to channel the spell, but no spell in it!“  
Now, looking at the artefact, Orell could indeed recognize that the inner rim of the stone ring had broken-off faces. „Should it be discarded, then?“  
„No, I will send a Gate. We will take it back and graft a new spell onto it. Evil isn't wasteful, after all. But on the bright side,“ Gnarl added, now not foaming with rage any more, „you can choose a basic spell you want to have all by yourself, Sire.“


	6. Decisions, decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And today, Orell seeks for a spell to imbue the Stone with, fails at sword fighting and gets an armour that doesn't smell like something the Greens would like to hump. Meanwhile, there is a horse in his bathtub and Kael wonders at the sudden surge of peasants with exposed rears flooding the city. Maybe they were escaped sacrifices of a moon cult...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, critique is welcome.

_From all types of magic, fire magic is considered to be the most destructive. This is a very evident trait, as fire, when out of control, will cause destruction without exception. Destruction can be delivered in many forms, ranging from as simple as fireballs to such mighty and taxing spells like the Ruborian Flame Pillar (for more information on destructive fire spells, see Azmud's_ 'Beginner's Guide to a Scorched Earth'). _But fire magic can also serve non-destructive purposes, like providing warmth or cauterizing wounds. Naz-Mar, the Master of Artistic Magic, was also able to cut beautiful statues out of stone and metal with the help of fire magic.  
Related to fire magic, but very different in its applications and function, is lightning magic. Similar to fire, lightning can be profusely used for destruction, both by creating fire as well as a clean and fast way to kill; it is particularly great to be used against foes clad in metal armour and is the magic type of choice to deal with knights or dwarves. Outside of flinging lightning bolts and frying your foes in their own skin, lightning magic can be used in many more subtle ways. The Mad Wizard Lares has shown through experiments on slave subjects that small doses of lightning magic can let muscles contract involuntarily and that it is possible to control a person like a puppet through carefully applied bolts. Based on these findings, the branch of puppeteering spells has been developed and refined. But for an apprentice of puppeteering spells it is important to understand the destructive aspect of lightning magic first and have a good grasp of its control, otherwise the attempt at controlling a person will easily end up with a pile of crispy meat instead. The easiest form of destructive light magic is the lightning bolt, another easy spell is the charger. More advanced spells include the thunderstorm (requires a good knowledge of air magic) and the static field._  
  
Giving his eyes a rest, Orell took a pause and looked at the two library workers busy with rebinding a few damaged books on a table close to the room's wall instead. The Tower's library was one of the parts that survived the sacking and the time after relatively unharmed, with only moths and dust lice posing a threat to the many books and scrolls. Possibly, books were of little value to the heroes, who probably were more interested in money rather than knowledge, or the hallway to the library collapsed during the battle and barred them from ever entering it. Either way, it was the perfect place for Orell to inform himself on the types of spells. And while the books were in a good shape after all the time they had spent on the shelves, the order of them on the shelves certainly wasn't good. Orell had found the copy of _Falamel the Great's Introduction to the Magic of the Elements_ in between a well-thumbed _50 New Exciting Positions for the Evil Paramour_ and the manuscript of a book titled _On the Physiology and Anatomy of the Satellimorpha_ , after he had wasted several hours being distracted by _The Chronology of Evil_ , to learn more about the previous Overlords and how they progressed with their conquests. From this book, he knew that his predecessor and the predecessor's father had been using lightning and fire magic, respectively. While it was most likely that other, intact Spell Stones he would find in the future would be about lightning or fire, Orell thought it would be not such a good idea to choose either, as the reign of these two Overlords was too recent and there were likely measures taken in the lands they had conquered to fend off exactly these kinds of magic. He stuck his nose back into the _Introduction to the Magic of the Elements_ to read on about the other types.   
  
_Often considered a relative of fire magic as well, but just as often placed in its own category, is light magic. Used predominantly by the multiple orders of paladins and the people that consider themselves heroes, this type of magic is more useful outside of battle, being a handy way to create light sources in dim buildings, caves and mines, or to fascinate the people with impressive light shows. In battle, the preferred way to use light magic is to temporarily or permanently blind your foe; using light magic for actual offensive purposes involves a lot of training and practice, but is very powerful, like the Sun's Spear, a ray of concentrated light that is capable of cutting through massive metal like a heated blade through a block of butter._   
  
Orell thought about the implications. If he were to use light magic against Aurenthuria's paladins, it would be the epitome of irony. But while light magic could mask his true intentions for the beginning of his conquest and provide him with the possibility of deceiving the paladins to be one of them, he decided against it, since he was sure that the paladin armours and many important parts of Aurenthuria had protections against this very type of magic to prevent being damaged by accidental misfires.  
  
 _Water magic belongs to one of the most multipurposeful types of elementary magic, as it can be used both for constructive and destructive forces. Most of the known healing magic falls into the category of water magic, with some spells originating from earth magic. For a comprehensive list of the use of magic for healing, see Alban's_ Medicine with Supernatural Aids. _Together with a good knowledge of air magic it can be used to control the weather. Due to the dangers this poses for the populace, weather influencing has been forbidden by the Council and can only be used with an issued license. The preferred way of destructive water magic is by freezing water, which can create both ice to be used in multiple shapes, but also to directly freeze your opponent; similarly, letting the water of your opponent's body evaporate is a relatively simple, yet effective (albeit very messy) method to kill. A necessary requirement for water magic is the presence of water, which can, in case of need, be condensed from the air, but this requires proficient skill to get more water than what could fit in a cup.  
Similar to fire and light magic, shadow magic is sometimes placed as a subcategory of water magic, but unlike the case of fire/light, there can be absolutely no connection be drawn between shadow and water. Despite its dangerous name that could be thought to be very popular among the forces of Evil, shadow magic is a relatively harmless type of magic, which is mostly used as a way to confuse the senses and is therefore the base for illusionary magic. Compared to lightning magic, which can be used in comparable ways, creating illusions to control people with is far easier to achieve. Its use for destructive purposes is limited, as it can only be used indirectly, for example by letting your enemies attack each other. Malagar's_ Fifty Shades of Black _is a good guide for the many uses of shadow magic for the most different purposes.  
Earth Magic is notable to cover two different branches that couldn't be more different. The most common one is the true earth magic, which involves manipulating unliving rock and soil. While it is often neglected in favour of air, lightning and fire by mages specialized in destruction, it is much stronger than most think; a skilled mage can obliterate entire armies or cities by letting the ground shake, softening the soil to swallow people and buildings or letting rocks break into chasms under feet. While this magic is strong, it is also taxing, since it needs a lot of mana to influence a large space to use. Examples for common simple spells are Rock Spears for simple impaling or dust clouds for blinding. Outside of its destructive purposes, earth magic is also very useful to influence the topography in your favour by creating and leveling hills or by forming homes directly from rock.  
The other type of earth magic is life magic. It is predominantly used by elves, druids and elven druids and therefore has the reputation of being peaceful. While those who master it mostly use it for healing, to influence plant growth and to allow communication with animals, it can also be used in different ways to create very nasty effects on the body through poisons and illnesses. Life magic is extensively covered in Shrewsworth's_ Green Thumb _and Sangelin's_ Magic of the Wild.  
 _Air magic is seldomly used in its pure form, most mages prefer to combine it with lightning or water magic. Creative uses of it are rare, the most common uses are creating winds and tornadoes. A more skilled mage who is not good at physical magic is able to use wind magic as a replacement for telekinesis, by holding objects up with the help of directed air currents. It is assumed that the airships of the long-gone Maerian Empire used this method for flying, by being manned by an air mage who let his wind fill the airship's sails.  
Pure magic is the least understood and most enigmatic type of elementary magic. Its uses are very different, ranging from enhancing of weapons and blasts of pure magic, which have the ability to disrupt the essence of ghosts, to the ability to influence the fabric of time and space itself. But due to its raw and unrefined form, it is also very dangerous to the user, known to cause both physical and psychic damage. Users of raw magic often experience symptoms like loss of hair, skin becoming covered in wet sores similar to burns, limb deformations and loss of sanity. Without a few notable examples, mages usually stay away from using pure magic and those who don't rarely survive the times unscathed. Occasionally, prodigies with strong magical abilities are born and in their cases it is very important to harness their magic and define it to a type to prevent the harmful effects of raw magic doing their work (A list of the prodigies and their development, and effects of pure magic on the wielder's body is given in Yesgharet's_ Understanding the Nature of Magic _). Like the vast majority of legally obtainable books on magic, this one will not encourage the use of pure magic for any purposes._  
  
Orell closed the book and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Raw magic was out of question and neither shadow magic nor air magic sounded like the right types to be useful for conquering an empire. Earth magic seemed to be excellent, but was most likely too hard for a beginner of the arts. Water magic could prove to be useful due to its dual nature of healing and destruction. His thoughts on life magic were similar, but water or plants were not always at hands, and in the latter case, the elven druids of Aurenthuria would likely beat him at his own game. Fed up with weighing the advantages and disadvantages of the different magic types, Orell decided to call it a day and go to bed. Maybe he will have a clearer picture the next morning. He informed the two Minions that were fixing the books to not put _Introduction to the Magic of the Elements_ lying on the table back to the shelves so he could continue reading it later and staggered out of the library, not waiting for the blood to return to his legs.  
  
The next morning began like the one before, with different types of soreness coming from yesterday's different activities. During the time it took Scruffy to get Mortis, Orell realized that the night's rest didn't help him in deciding on the type of magic for the Spell Stone. If he couldn't find a good type of elementary magic, he would have to take a look at the non-elementary disciplines, like mental magic or necromancy. He decided to think about it later, there were other matters to take care of, like the reeking linen underclothes he took off yesterday and forgot to get them washed. He was currently wearing the old red robe and would have to look for more suitable clothing later. Before Orell could call any of the other courtiers, Scruffy and Mortis returned.   
„These clothes must be washed,“ he told the courtier, holding up the bundle of clothing that had been soaked in sweat yesterday, while Mortis healed the soreness. With a grin too wide for such a task, Scruffy took the clothes and sped out of the bedroom while giggling.   
„Very enthusiastic, that one,“ he muttered to himself. Mortis just gave him a long look as an answer and then left the room through the curtains as well.  
Putting the boots on, he opted to go to the Throne Room to talk to Gnarl first. Spending even more time in the library would not be productive at the time and maybe the experienced advisor of many Overlords before could give any input on what element to choose.  
  
„Good morning, Master. Did your search in the library bring up any ideas on what you want to turn your Spell Stone into?“ Gnarl walked over from the place next to the throne dais where the damaged Spell Stone was placed on a sheet of canvas with a group of Browns and Reds around it. They were chiseling stone pieces into shape, similar to other Minions across the whole Throne Room, shaping the replacement tiles and pillar elements. Two of the pillars were already completed and Orell just saw in time how a Red slid down one of the pillars. Quaver had exchanged the now fixed pillar with a large piece of unedited Netherworld rock and was busy writing and crossing out on a parchment scroll.  
„Actually, I wanted to ask you for advice on what spell would be the best.“  
„Hmm...“ Gnarl absent-mindedly stroked his goatee. „I would surely love to see fire magic in action again, I enjoyed all the burning and screaming back in the time. And the fireball spell is pretty simple to bind to an artefact.“  
„But wouldn't the people remember that the Overlord seventy years ago used fire magic? They surely would have taken precautions against that type of magic.“  
„Bah, when I know one thing to be true, it is that humans are incredibly stupid. Three years after one Overlord falls, they have already forgotten he had ever existed! The elves might have a slightly better memory, but back in the time, they were too busy with being eaten by slugs and later dying in the Glorious Empire's arena to care about magical wards. Setting some pants on fire today will hit them as unexpectedly as it did back then.“  
Looking at one of the Red Minions working on a piece of rock, Orell added: „But how much would using fire add to what I already have? I have the Red Minions, after all.“  
„Oh, a lot. Walls of fire, rain of fire, streams of fire. Why wasting your time with getting around your Minions' stupidity when you can do it yourself? But of course, if you want a bit more varied violence, there are of course other elements to choose from.“  
Orell rubbed his neck. „I am still not sure about it. How long is the time I have for a decision?“  
„The Minions will have the basic layout for the core of the Spell Stone finished this evening. Then, they will need about the half of another day to shape the specifics and prepare the blood circle to bind the spell, until then it is better that you have chosen.“  
„Then, there is another thing, which is the attack on Nordberg. What can you tell me about the town, like its size, the geographical position, possible city defenses?“  
„Not so fast, Sire. It is too early to plan such a big battle, there are smaller matters to take care of first.“  
„Gnarl, the faster it is done, the better. We might not be able to surprise the paladins any more, since the ones sent to the volcano not returning surely has raised suspicions by now, but the longer we wait, the longer they can prepare for a battle as well. The rocks have been kicked loose, now it is either run or get caught up in the growing avalanche.“  
Gnarl grinned and folded his hand together. „Master, may I remind you that the paladins and at least a few people of Nordberg are in possession of, you know, crossbows? You do have bad experience with them already and your current armour will not protect you from them, unless you are standing in wind direction, that is. And while the Forge workers are reporting great progresses in forging your plate mail, it can only be done tomorrow. In the meantime, you can just go and conquer a few more villages, like Faairdal.“  
„Speaking of Faairdal, how is it going there?“  
„The people got out of their houses, but are still too afraid to get out of the gates, because the stationed Minions managed to get hold of the pack of wolves near the village. They are driving Grime half-insane now, because neither wolves nor Minions make good shepherds,“ Gnarl added with a chuckle. Speaking of Grime, Orell couldn't see the ink-stained advisor-trainee anywhere. He was most likely in Faairdal now himself.  
„I have a different idea how to spend the time. Where can I find the two marauders?“  
„Chasm and Canis? In the Barracks, like most of the other Minions currently not busy with anything in the Tower.“  
  
Getting to the Barracks was one thing, finding the marauders another. The caves were more densely populated than the last time he visited and several Minions ran past him carrying planks, ropes and other materials. Passing a half-finished hut which three Browns were eagerly working on, he saw what the materials were meant for. But none of the Minions he saw were extensively scarred or wore a deer skull.   
In his search for the marauders Orell ended up in a part of the Barracks he was not intending to go into. The lava streams, occurring sporadically and widely avoided by the pathways earlier, were now much more common and sometimes freely flowed over the paths, in their own beds shaped from consolidated lava. The heat in this part was comparable to the volcano he retrieved the Red Minions from. He also noticed that the majority of the Minions in this area were Reds, with Browns only few and far in between. This must be the part of the Barracks where the Red Minions were stationed, a part where Orell had no business at the time. Before he risked his robe going up in flames from the lava streams on the ground, he turned and walked the path he took back, to the part where the Browns lived.  
Orell finally found what he looked for the moment he heard a very unexpected sound from one of the tunnels, a low barking and growling. The tunnel the sound was emanating from opened into a wider chamber which seemed to hold some significance to the Minions. The walls were mostly covered with crudely-woven tapestries with simple drawings showing various scenes, without doubt coming from the Minions themselves. In the flickering, yellow light of the torches Orell could make out washed-out drawings and carvings on the ground, a system of lines and curves. Only one Minion was in the room; it was the marauder dressed in the fur and skull of a stag, playing with the same wolf he rode all the time during the chase after the carriages. How did he get the wolf down here? But that would be a mystery to solve later.  
„Canis...“ The Minion looked up from the wolf. „I have a task for you. Take fifteen of the Minions with good experience and talent in wolf-riding to the Minion Gate close to the inn we left yesterday and get them mounted. Then, find a village and terrorize it. But listen closely now, I want nobody killed. Throw some peasants into the mud or tear the pants off their posteriors, make sure they are running away in fear. When the villagers have fled or barred themselves in their homes, move to the next village and repeat it. But stay away from larger settlements at all costs. If you meet any armed resistance that goes further than shepherd's crooks and pitchforks, you are allowed to use deadly force. If you spot any paladins, retreat immediately. Return at nightfall.“  
Canis looked at him and snorted.  
„Did you understand it so far?“  
Another snort.  
„Is this a 'yes' or a 'no'?“  
Canis snorted again and then nodded slowly.  
„Then go.“  
In a fluid movement, Canis swung himself up on the wolf's back and rode out of the chamber. Almost in the same moment Canis left the chamber, Chasm hobbled into the room from a different tunnel.  
„Your friend Canis is not very talkative, is he?“  
„He does talk very well, to the wolves. In their language.“  
Now, Orell wasn't so sure if sending Canis to do this rather delicate task was a good idea.  
As if Chasm was able to read Orell's thoughts off his face, he said: „Do not worry, he can lead the Minions just fine. He can be very persuading, even without words.“  
Orell was still skeptical. While he could not be present in this kind of attack, since he wanted to fool the villagers, and in return the paladins in Nordberg, into believing that it was just a case of the local wildlife getting too bold, he knew that Minions alone tended to get more violent than necessary and had to be kept in line in these regards. But if there was one to know what Canis could and couldn't do, it was Chasm. And looking at the scarred Minion, Orell had an idea what to spend the day on, outside of going to the library and reading about the history of Evil, magic or battle tactics.  
„I don't want to sound prying, but can you tell me from what battles your scars are from?“ Orell realized immediately how ridiculous it was to talk with one of his Minions like this, but the mangled creature radiated seriousness, very unlike the other usually grinning and giggling Minions, and appeared like someone deserving of respect.  
Chasm raised his right hand that missed the outer finger and the middle one lacking a claw. „Elven sword.“ Then his left hand without a claw on the index finger. „Salamander teeth.“ Pointing at the missing part of the upper jaw, he said: „Mace wielded by a Gargantuan.“ A scratch over the ground with the left foot that missed a toe. „Imperial war dog.“ A point at a circular scar on his right thigh. „Unicorn.“ And finally, he turned around to show a nasty-looking gash from shoulder to hip, under the harness he wore his sabre on. „Blacktunic.“  
„And your ears?“  
„Cut them off myself.“  
Orell raised his eyebrows in surprise. He expected the Minion to have been in and surviving a lot of battles, but he wouldn't have thought he would have gone that far.  
„Why I asked you, it is because I need to regain my swordfighting abilities and needed a sparring partner. You seem to be the best for this task around the Tower, with all the experience.“  
Chasm did a slight nod. „Good choice, Master. I will await you here when you are ready.“  
With this, the two parted. Although he would like to begin the training as soon as possible, Orell needed to get his equipment from the Private Quarters first.  
  
Taking a look into his sleeping alcove, he could see his underclothes weren't ready yet. Orell decided he would take the _Introduction_ from the library and read it here to spend the time. Maybe he would have the revelation he needed in the part where Falamel described the disciplines in more depth.  
With the book in hand, he sat down on a worn armchair next to a small table the Minions have brought in yesterday during his absence. They also removed the pile of rubble next to the bed, which was still collapsed, though.  
Orell scrolled to the beginning of the chapter detailing the nature and uses of fire magic. If Gnarl was right and the people really didn't care about any protections from the magic previous Overlords used, this might indeed be the right element for him. The only thing he didn't like about it were the potential harms it posed to the user; he was neither very eager to get burned hands from casting spells against the wind nor did the cases of rookie wizards getting surrounded by their own flames and burning to death sound very appealing to him. Maybe there were protections against faulty use of the spells detailed in the book or Gnarl knew of ways to prevent such accidents...  
Time flew by and Orell was reading through the part of the chapter which detailed the use of fire magic in medicine, when he heard a rustle to his left. It was the curtains being opened and he saw Scruffy bringing the washed underclothes. For some reason, she was literally grinning from ear to ear while she staggered to his bed, holding the washed clothes up like some kind of symbol of worship. She placed the clothing on the sheets, said: „I'm done, Master“ with a slight bow and walked out, closing the curtain behind her. Orell looked at the moving curtains for a few seconds, but then shrugged. This Minion seemed to just behave strangely and at least she didn't stare at him this time. He bookmarked the page he was reading and began to change into his usual attire of linen underclothes and armour. Chasm was surely waiting.  
  
In the less than five minutes they were training, Orell was dead over a dozen times. Not only were his once decent swordfighting skills so rusty he had trouble remembering the moves, but Chasm was a far better fighter than Orell would have imagined. He didn't fight the way other Browns did, which were mostly just hacking at enemies with their weapons without any care. Instead, he parried, blocked and counterattacked, going for any opening that was present.   
And Orell's current fighting prowess was full of openings.  
He barely managed to block one of Chasm's blows, but the Brown let the sword slide along his own blade as he turned it backwards, only to let it rest against Orell's chest. Dead, again. They parted and engaged in another round. Orell blocked the first attack and sidestepped the counterattack. Chasm avoided his sword with a roll and struck at Orell's legs, who barely managed to bring his sword in the way of Chasm's sabre. A little twist of the blade took the sabre up the sword's length and Orell struck it away when he had enough leverage. He lunged at the created opening, but Chasm deflected the blade and got behind it, then his sabre rested against Orell's wrist. Probably not dead, but incapacitated.  
But at least he was getting better. The first matches were over after one or two seconds, in this one he managed to last longer. Slowly, the memories were coming back. He started another match.  
Orell struck first this time and his blade was stopped by Chasm's saber. He jumped back to avoid the following counterattack. _Keep distance from the enemy's blade_.   
Chasm immediately followed, not allowing Orell any time to breathe. The sabre jutted out straight forwards and Orell barely deflected with a sidewards strike. _Aim for the tips for better leverage_.   
Chasm let the sabre return in a fluid movement. Catching it with his blade, Orell let it slide up the sword's length in the direction of the hilt for better leverage, before he used a move he barely remembered, twisting the sword to catch the sabre between the blade and the crossguard and disarm Chasm. The Minion pulled the blade out of the attempted lock and thrust it forward, which Orell barely avoided from it touching him, the hood of his armour flying onto his head from the motion. Chasm immediately went after the opening created by the awkward pose, in a high strike, to keep it at distance from Orell's sword. Hoicking the sword, he managed to block it in the last moment. _Go with the flow of the movement instead of resisting the force_.   
Turning his sword, Orell let it slide past him, and turning it around, he saw how the blade slapped against Chasm's hip. He made it for once. Caught up in his unexpected victory, he didn't notice Chasm's sabre on his lower back.   
„Don't let your guard down until sure the enemy is dead.“  
Orell let out a drawn-out breath and sheathed his sword. „Can you train the other Minions, too? The more in my horde have at least a basic grasp of self-defense the better.“  
Chasm looked at his master in a hard-to-interpret expression and said: „Of course I can. I can teach them to fight and I can teach them to use a shield. How many Browns do you want to have trained?“  
Orell thought about it for a moment. He had summoned seventeen Minions the last time and if he used five of the spaces for Reds...  
„Five of each. I'm not sure how much time we have, but start with the shield lessons first. The Browns seem to be pretty good at killing already, even with their lack in finesse.“  
  
The wolf's teeth sank into the bottom of the rotund man's pants and tore the fabric, exposing the man's hairy rear. Glottis cheered the fleeing and screaming man on as he ran. Cackle directed his wolf in the way of the man, who had to turn to avoid the animal's snapping jaws. Glottis and Cackle were the two Minions who got the idea of ripping trouser bottoms and it quickly turned into a competition between the Minions, with even the strange, silent newcomer Canis participating in it. Cackle waved his accumulating collection of seats before Glottis to mock him. Glottis just laughed and sped off into another direction, in the search for intact pants between all the bare bottoms.  
Ferin snarled at the man lying on the ground until Canis could smell the urine from him. He let the large wolf take his paws off the scared-stiff man and only as Canis let out a deep growl the peasant shot up and ran. Soon after, another wolf rider tackled him to the ground and the sound of ripping fabric was heard.  
Canis grinned to himself, this went better than he had hoped for. The people in the hamlets were utterly and completely cowards, hardly putting up any resistance. He had made it clear in the beginning of the mission that the people were just to be scared and after pants started getting ripped, all incidents of injuries stopped.   
The frightened peasants ran around like quails, some hiding in their houses, where they were often chased out again when one of the wolf-riders managed to get inside through the windows, many fleeing from the village in all directions. Canis worried that they would inform the enemy the Overlord was fighting against, but the Overlord made the task in a way Canis couldn't prevent them from running away. He was sure there was a method behind it; as a mere Minion, it was not Canis' task to question his Master's decisions, but he clearly saw that letting the villagers flee would be a tactical disadvantage.  
Canis chased down a woman, tearing her skirt up to the great entertainment of the other Minions, before he took a look at the setting sun. _Return at nightfall_ , the Master had said. He whispered something in Ferin's ear, who let out a howl as the signal for all wolves to come to him. Their work in this village was done and they wouldn't make it to the next before it got dark. With the wolves and their riders gathered, he gesticulated at the Minions and then set Ferin into motion, in the direction of the Minion Gate they came from.  
  
On his search for the abyss and the flying rocks that would transport him back to the Tower, Orell ran into Canis and his mount. He raised his eyebrow at the sight, as it would mean the sun had already set in the upper world. Both Brown and wolf were covered in dust and mud and there was a pile of multicoloured but mostly brown torn cloth pieces lying on the wolf's shoulder. The Minion on the wolf walked up to Orell with a wide grin, as if he was expecting him to do something.  
„Did you fulfill your mission as said?“   
Canis grinned wider and nodded as an answer.  
„And none of the peasants got hurt in the process?“ he dug deeper.  
There was a brief but very noticeable shadow hushing over his face, but then the wolf rider grinned and nodded again. Orell took it as the Minions having done their work mostly correctly, with only a few cases of injuries or even casualties, something he had fully expected.  
„I have given Chasm the task to train some of the Minions in combat, send the Browns you took with you to him when you see them, I could use the stronger-“  
„Sire, the outlines of the blood circle for the imbuing of the Spell Stone has been finished.“  
Orell jolted at the sudden sound, but immediately calmed down then he realized the voice next to his ear was that of Gnarl. He remembered that he didn't take off the hood that flew on his head during the training session and he didn't take the Shroud out of the hood beforehand. Now he wished he had, having Gnarl know how badly he had performed during his training with Chasm was beyond embarrassing for him.  
„That is good,“ Orell hesitantly answered. „But can it wait? I'm still not sure if fire magic is the best for a complete beginner, considering I could accidentally burn myself with it and I wanted to read up on the non-elemental magic types first before I decide anything.“  
There was a sigh to be heard on the other end of the connection. „But do hurry up, Sire, a blood circle doesn't last forever and having magic to your aid when taking Nordberg would shift the scales further in your favour.“  
„I will see what the books say first,“ Orell answered while he already set himself into motion.  
  
After a long night in the library and a still fruitless search for the best spell, Orell awoke slumped over a table, his face on a book and the candle being burnt down and cold. Despite his bones now aching from the awkward position over a hard chair and table, he was glad to not awake with sore muscles this time. He wasn't unfamiliar with waking up with a book as a pillow.   
But he was certainly unfamiliar with the sight he saw when cracking his eyes open.  
The face of a humongous creature with glowing yellow orbs for eyes and triangular teeth was hovering in front of him. Orell shot up and his right hand felt for the sword on his hip. He noticed his sword was not in place and only then realized that it was just one of the Minions standing in front of the table.  
„Scruffy, what... oh, it's you, Grime.“  
Gnarl's assistant gave him a worn-out look before he spoke. „Gnarl wanted to inform you that the armour has just been finished. You can go and try it on right now, he said.“  
Orell got up, stretched, closed the book he was sleeping on and put it back on the shelf.  
„I will do it now, the sooner the paladins can be thrown out of Nordberg, the better.“  
On the way through the Private Quarters, which had rather few workers repairing the damages compared to the Throne Room, he heard a whinny from the compartment that was once a bathroom. The horse he took from the decoy carriage had been brought here, since Orell couldn't find a better place for it, one that wasn't full of Minions or unsecured ledges. Orell pulled one of the courtiers aside to tell him to get fresh hay or grass from Faairdal and a few buckets of water for the horse.   
Thinking about whether he would decide to bring it to Nordberg, Orell quickly decided against it. While the horse would be a speed advantage for him, it clearly was not a warhorse. And Orell knew very well that even warhorses would be more hindering than useful in the alleys of a city, especially when they had no armour to be protected from attacks. Which was something Orell was now taking care of for himself; one encounter with a crossbow bolt was enough.  
  
Ingrid decided to wait in her niche on a footstool in the coming events first, and also because the Forge was now in a state of turmoil. All the armour pieces had been formed, tempered and finished yesterday, the night had been spent with bolting the pieces together, adding pieces of leather and chainmail and a few finishing touches. A Minion had been sent to inform their master and now they were eagerly waiting for his arrival.   
Leaning out of her niche when the already loud Minions got even louder with cheering, she could see that in between the rocks that floated past the open part of the Forge one rock moved faster and with more purpose, heading straight for the ledge. She also saw three figures standing on the flattened top of the rock. One she recognized as the disgusting old Minion in robes and with a glowing stone dangling above his head, the one who had ordered her to be undressed and tied to the throne. She absolutely hated him. The other Minion she did hold in higher regards, it was the elder's silent assistant, who obviously couldn't stand him either, judging by the plethora of rude gestures he commented the old one with.   
The third one was... not what Ingrid had expected. She was sure this must be the master of the tower and its Minions, only not clad in the black leather armour this time, but in a simple linen shirt and trousers. And that man behind the mask was not the supernatural being she expected. He was tall and lanky, a good part of the bulk she remembered must have come from the armour. When the stone docked and the trio stepped off it, Ingrid could make out his face, which was elongate, dominated by a long, pointy nose and surrounded by a bird's nest of auburn, messily-cut hair. She couldn't make out the eye colour, but it was certainly not the yellow slits she remembered seeing in the shadows of the hood. All in all, this supposed 'Demon Lord' appeared very mundane.   
Giblet ran up to him first, jumping up and down excitedly.  
„Mastah, Mastah, armour is finished!“  
The master looked over to the work bench, where the single armour pieces lay spread out, ready to be donned.  
„You were surprisingly fast with your work. Gnarl had told me it would take three days at least, but you managed it under the set time frame.“  
„Giblet had help, Mastah!“ the Minion replied happily. „Smith lady did help.“  
Ingrid tensed up under the gazes that were placed on her by both the man and the elder Minion at his side.  
The elder Minion appeared to be furious by this revelation judging by his face expression, but his voice was surprisingly calm, as if he was talking to an unruly child. „Giblet... you did trust the armour of your Master on this wench, who tried to kill him? Did the metal fumes liquefy your brain and let you shit it out the next morning?“  
Giblet sunk down under the elder's piecing gaze. „Other Minions watched while smith lady worked, was not tampering with metal!“  
Ingrid couldn't take it any more. „He is saying the truth. I helped him, not because I wanted an opportunity to degrade the metal, but because I have a request to his master.“  
The 'Demon Lord' was not paying heed to the two Minions, but looked more closely at the armour, tapping a greave with a finger. Now, he turned to her with a curious expression.   
„Now, that was a quick shift of values. What is your interest that the proud smith of Faairdal that wanted to kill me a few days ago suddenly wants to aid me doing exactly that what she tried to stop me from?“ he said with a haughty grin.  
Ingrid's upper lip twitched from the man's sarcasm, but she replied in a calm manner. „Does the name 'Haeren Bloodsheep' tell you anything?“  
„Yes. One of the original heroes, pious and has it good with the paladins. He needs to go.“  
„He needs to die. This man has reigned Nordberg for far too long and his influence has infected our culture in its entirety. We had to swear off our traditions and way of living. He even replaced our gods of old with-“ she nearly spat out the next words, „-Punarim, the sun god. A sun deity, worshipped in a land where snow and wind once reigned, can you believe it?“  
„So, you want that Bloodsheep dies and the people of Nordberg can practice their old traditions again?“ he stated.  
„Yes. Or do you have your own set of traditions you want to force upon us?“ The elder Minion laid his ears flat on his neck and Ingrid began to regret her words. While the man appeared far more harmless than she had the impression of back then in Faairdal, making her more bold than she should be, there were still the Minions to worry about.  
„Frankly said, I don't care who or what you worship or on which day you hold what festival. My primary goal is to take down Aurenthuria, and all I will demand are the raw materials needed to fulfill it.“  
Ingrid sighed in relief. Not only because he didn't take offense to her badly-worded question, but also because with the end of Bloodsheep's reign Nordberg could finally be what it once was. No more harvest festivals that celebrated the farmer hero and his stupid sheep. Maybe she would even be able to see a proper celebration of Midwinter's Eve. It was still being celebrated, but it wasn't the same as the one the elders were talking about. The winters of Nordberg had come to irregular snowfalls, often enough they were followed by rainfall, which turned the snow into sludge. Ingrid was sure that as soon as the worship of the sun god stopped in Nordberg, the winters would return.  
She was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice that the man was putting the armour on, with the help of the Forge's Minions, including Giblet. With all the help from the Minions it went surprisingly fast. The elder with the glowing rock took the helmet first and put a contraption into it, an object consisting of arranged brazen discs held together by fabric that resembled fluid metal, before he passed it to his master. Ingrid watched with fascination when he put the helmet on and his face was suddenly hidden behind impossibly deep shadows, with only the already familiar slits of yellow light being visible behind the visor.  
She couldn't help but admire the work. The plate mail was built in a light fashion, to not weigh its wearer down too much, but still covered up all the important parts. Giblet outdid himself with the design, to her it looked like the armour a seinyr-king straight from the legends could have worn, with all the curves and thorns on the edges of the plates and the three spines at the top of the helmet jutting up like a dark mockery of a crown.  
„Oh, you look evil, Sire, just perfectly dressed for the coronation party in Nordberg!“ the elder Minion said in the most feet-licking manner Ingrid had ever heard. „I am sure the party will be even better with a few magic tricks impressing the populace, especially those of the painful and bloody kind!“  
The man turned his head to the Minion. „First I will take a look at the town from the distance. To keep it at your metaphors, I want to know what magic tricks would impress the populace the most, who I have to invite to the party and if there is anything I have to bring myself.“   
The elder groaned. „But please, hurry up, Master. The Minions are waiting to finish both the blood circle and the centre of the Spell Stone.“  
Then, the man's head turned to Ingrid. „And thank you. After Nordberg is conquered and if the armour holds its promise, I will take off your chain.“   
With this, the three stepped on the docked flying rock, which carried them away, over the red-glowing abyss.  
Ingrid couldn't help but smile. This supposed 'Demon Lord' would be certainly better for Nordberg than Bloodsheep had ever been.  
  
Clad in the new armour and with a few Minions at his back, Orell looked over the city of Nordberg, from a safe distance atop a steep hill. Compared to the small hamlet Faairdal it was huge, but he could clearly recognize the similar architecture. Right behind its stone walls there was a sea of houses, of different size, height and quality. In the background, he could make out the form of a bell tower, next to a broad roof. The city hugged a cliff to its western side, with a waterfall rushing down and into the city's confines.   
„Hmm... looks like Nordberg has grown a lot since the last time it was conquered by Evil. And the stone walls are certainly a new addition. That will make breaching it a bit less easy,“ Gnarl told through the Shroud's connection. In the metal helmet, his voice sounded more clear.  
Orell took a closer view at the city to find its weak points. Three-fourths of it were surrounded by a stone wall, too high to climb and too thick to damage without heavy siege weapons he was sure the Tower didn't have and one fourth was blocked off by the cliff. Maybe it was possible to climb the cliff and then use ropes to get down, but that might be too suspicious and the plan would be busted the moment someone decided to look up.   
There was a single gate he could see, barely opened and flanked by two watchtowers. Occasionally, there were people walking in and out, some of those coming looked like fugitives. These were surely the people from the surrounding villages Orell had ordered to attack yesterday, doing exactly what he wanted them to do; the more paladins out of Nordberg to hunt down the monsters that attacked the hamlets, the better. But the gates were a bad place to start the attack, as doing so would quickly alert the whole city.  
A look at the eastern wall revealed a small creek flowing out of an opening. It might be the right place to sneak into the city, albeit a very uncomfortable one, especially when the creek was treated as a sewer.  
„Gnarl, can Possession Stones be transported?“  
„Interesting question you ask, Master, we had never tried it. I will have to ask Grubby about it some time. But I think I can see why you ask that, I can tell that it will not work, not without Blues, Sire. The other Minion tribes are only useful at drowning when it comes to doing things with water.“  
Orell gave the promising opening a last look before seeking for another place where the city could be breached. Even if he went out to find the Blue Minions first and they were somewhere close, it would still be too much time spent on it, the paladins were alerted of his presence. There was already the Spell Stone waiting to be finished.   
Speaking of spells, Orell was now certain that fire wasn't the right magic type to use, as most of the houses consisted almost entirely of wood and would burn like punk once set on fire and earth magic was too dangerous in such a densely populated town, where a collapsing house would be a danger for friend and foe alike.  
In his thoughts, his eyes were still scouring for a good entry point. They briefly lingered on a promising-looking hill to the east, which with some help could be used as a ramp to get over the wall. He quickly ditched the thought, as this would require too much time to set up. He couldn't see the Northern wall from here, to check it for weak spots. Then his eyes fell onto the front gate again, where a group of three people was heading to. Slowly, a grin crept across his face, wider than ever. He didn't have to check the northern wall any more. The weak spot was right in front of him.  
„Gnarl, now I know which spell I will choose.“


	7. A talent for lying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this time, Orell reveals what spell he chose, finds out what happens when Minions use trap doors, buggers up a lot of things and then some more, but actually takes Nordberg in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of the Nordberg arc. Next up: a mutated forest.

Jern was annoyed.  
The first of them had shown up yesterday afternoon, and since then, the stream of fugitives has not diminished. First he thought it was a sick joke, as many of them were having their pants torn in ways their rears were exposed, but the sheer mass of people coming had shown him otherwise soon.   
Several of his brothers in arms had ridden out to fight the gigantic pack of giant wolves, murderous gnomes and demons the people were reporting to have attacked them. Jern worried about the fellow paladins since from those sent out to retrieve the evil artefact and cull the monsters in the volcano only two had returned. Two, and a panicked coachman talking about a black demon controlling the beasts of the forest. The other paladins laughed his story off, called him a lazy coward for abandoning the carriage and threw him into the city's dungeons for the night.   
That was before the fugitives came, before a delegation rode out to take care of the problem, before one of the paladins breathlessly returned several hours later, reporting about one of the carriages standing destroyed on the road and the corpses of two of the missing paladins lying behind it. The mass of traces in the mud showed that the coachman was telling the truth. Something was certainly not right in Nordberg.  
But rather than allowing him to go out and fight those evil beasts who had slaughtered his comrades, Jern was stuck at the gates, to make sure they were closed as soon as any wolves, gnomes or demons showed up. Just now, another group of fugitives came along the main road, heading for the gates, and it was a big one. Squinting his eyes, Jern could make out a hunched-over, old man leading several children, all of them dressed in unusually heavy clothing.  
„Hello, good paladin,“ the old man said, „we seek refuge from the monsters that attacked my village. I was teaching these children when they came and chased us out. We barely made it all in one piece.“  
„Hmm...“ Jern looked at the children behind the elder. All of their faces were hidden under the sheep-fur-trimmed hoods of their jackets. „Your pupils are strangely dressed at this time of the year.“  
„Oh,“ the old man said, briefly looking back, „yes, I was just teaching them about Nordberg's historical climate and gave them these clothes to try on when the creatures attacked the village, we did not have the time to change back.“  
Jern knelt down in front of one of the children. „Aren't you hot under all that fur, boy?“ he asked him, but instead of an answer, the child slightly backed off and sniffed.   
_What an unusual behaviour for a child_ , Jern thought. All of the other children that came with the fugitives were all but clinging to his legs while crying their eyes out. Then, a cold feeling crept into Jern's mind. What if the demons had somehow gotten into the clothes of the children when the man fled, devouring their bodies and taking their places? Jern's hand shot forwards and flipped the hood off the boy's head.   
Involuntarily, Jern sighed in relief. The face under the hood was that of a blonde boy with large eyes, buck teeth and an upturned nose with a trail of snot dangling off it. The boy sniffed again, pulling the snot back into his nose. His face was not exactly something one would call pretty, but it was not that of a monster.  
„Stop it, dear paladin, you are scaring him.“ Jern looked up and his eyes met those of the old man, looking sternly at him.   
„I'm sorry,“ Jern apologized to the boy, who pulled the hood back up again. Then the paladin turned to the old man. „You may pass, the way to the emergency accommodation is up the hill, then left after the old walls... argh, just follow the others.“  
The old man nodded and he walked through the gates, the children following him inside.  
Jern gave the group a last look and then turned to watch the road again. _What an odd group_ , he thought and shook his head. He never heard of the Nordbergians having schools like this, especially in the smaller villages outside the city. The Aurenthurian priests had built a school in the town years ago, but hardly anyone went to it, most of the time it was used as a storage room. Nordbergians just didn't value knowledge.  
His thoughts were stopped dead in their tracks by a loud bang against the back of his helmet. The last thing he heard was the resonating ringing of the metal.  
  
The illusion shattered in the moment Orell swung the hilt of his sword against the head of the guard paladin, fell off him in wisps of dark smoke. He gave a mental command to Chasm, who was leading a group of Browns disguised in children's clothing by his own, to run to the watchtower on the left, while he himself and the horde of dressed-up Browns and Reds took care of the right tower. The heavy wooden doors flew open and the Minions streamed inside, killing the surprised guards almost instantly. Orell stormed upstairs, to the place in the watchtower where the winches for the city gates were located.  
The guards on the second floor were slightly better prepared due to being already alarmed by the fighting going on below, but they still faltered at the sight of the armed 'children' streaming into the room. Orell engaged the closest one himself, while the Minions that followed him tore up the rest. As he disarmed the man and one of the Browns jumped on his back to draw his sword through the guard's neck, Orell could hear the barking and yelping of the wolves coming rapidly closer to the city, mixed with the screaming and laughing from the other watchtower.   
Canis and his wolf riders had finally arrived.  
The winch could be found on the top floor, which was half-open, giving a wonderful vista of the houses as well as the city's outskirts. Orell briefly leaned out of the wide window to see if the wolf riders were all in the city's confines, then he ordered the Minions to turn the winch. The barely-open gates closed quickly, now the paladins out in the hamlets looking for the suddenly-vanished monsters that were now reported stealing the clothes of children could not get inside. To make sure no one could change that, Orell struck his sword at the winch, letting the sturdy rope fall to the ground in many shorter pieces. He could hear a man screaming and running over the cobblestones, which briefly reached new heights and then ended, the growls of a wolf to be heard in its place.  
Outside again, he took a look at his Minions. He was now able to summon eighteen of them, but by exploiting a loophole there was now a group of thirty. The two marauders were leading six Minions each by themselves. Chasm's group had three of the trained shield-carriers equipped with small, simple wooden shields and Canis' group consisted entirely of wolf riders. None of the Minions had died in the assault on Nordberg's gates and the bell tower was still silent, although Orell was sure it would change sooner than later. At a brisk pace, he went northwards, along the broad main road that would lead straight to the town hall.  
„This went better than I have thought, Master,“ Gnarl's voice rang in the helmet. „You seem to be unusually proficient in the arts of shadow magic, fooling a paladin on the first try.“  
Orell just shrugged. „My father always said I have a talent for lying.“  
„Then lie onwards, Lord, I remember this road from the old times, when it was still outside of the walls' confines. Just follow it and you will reach the town hall without much hassle, where you can expect to find and behead the buffoon that is warming the seat of power for you.“  
The district they were passing was one of the shabbier ones with a few islands of stark contrast, mostly built quickly and without much care. The houses were of very uneven size and quality, ranging from the small huts that accommodated the growing populace to the several storeys tall inns, wide warehouses and the pompous buildings of traders, which were put in a place where the delivery of goods was easy. Strangely, Orell couldn't see any people on the road or in the alleys that branched off it, despite the paladin at the gates having mentioned fugitives on the way to a shelter. Were they all chased away by the fight at the gate? The emptiness was looking unnatural to him and even the Minions were looking around warily, expecting an ambush from one of the alleys. But still, the bell remained silent, so at least no one has alarmed the entire city yet.  
They went up the hill the paladin had described and could see the parts of the city beyond the district occupied by traders and the poor. Slightly out of breath from the incline of the hill and the additional weight of the plate armour, Orell shortly stopped to look at what lay before him. The houses had become larger, prettier and definitely older than the simple huts before. The tar-impregnated wood was of a rich brown colour and the builders had enough time to decorate the gables with carvings. Behind these buildings were withered stone dams, which had small huts on top. They were most likely the old city walls, before the city grew so large it expanded to the outside of their confines.  
And that was when Orell found out where the populace was. The group of Nordbergians that came from a wider alley to the left were a sight that could have come straight from the Golden City itself. All of them were shouting over one another, making their words unintelligible, many were armed with shepherd's crooks, shovels and pitchforks, and some of them were holding up animal skins spread on wooden frames with paroles written on them. Orell could make out 'Right to Fight', 'No Power in the Paladin's Hands alone' and 'Our Villages, our Defense' written in bright red letters, before the group of protesters stopped and went silent, staring at Orell and the Minions. Some of them paled and put their hands in front of their mouths, at the back of the gang the clattering of wood could be heard when a man dropped the frame he held and ran into the opposite direction. But the rest stayed where it was, shooting glares and one of the men at the front tensed up and pointed a finger at Orell and the Minions.  
„What did I tell you? The paladins are in cohorts with the wolves and the demons! They wanted us to get out of our homes and force us to live in the city! They even bewitched the children!“   
„I am not a-“ Orell shouted agitatedly in retort to the man's accusation, before he had to retreat from the angry mob. He and the Minions backed off into one of the narrower alleys on the other side of the road, to prevent being encircled by the mob which outnumbered his horde. Then he commanded the shield carriers and wolf riders forwards.  
Not being able to get into the fight himself, Orell was left to watch the Minions take up the fight and the sight left him with a mixture of feelings. On one hand, Chasm and Canis worked wonders in the short time they had trained the Minions. The five shield carriers didn't back away one inch when they pushed back against the mass of furious people, with the weapons and wolf jaws striking at them from the gaps.   
On the other hand, while these people had a legitimate reason to attack, they were not his enemies. Their fighting skills consisted of little more than just swinging their weapons around and many of them dropped their weapons to flee in terror when the first man fell, with the teeth of a wolf buried in his leg. The attack was over almost as quickly as it started; Orell had to call back his Minions twice to get them all to stop chasing the fleeing people. When they returned to his side, their faces clearly showed they were craving for more blood.  
„Keep this for the paladins,“ Orell told them.   
Ahead, he could hear the people they fought shouting loudly at each other. Possibly, they were reassembling for a second attack. Not taking any chances, Orell took the other way, further away from the main road and deeper into the network of alleys, to avoid further confrontation with the protesters.   
„Hah, look at these cowards. First they scream for battle and then they run like chickens when they get what they wanted,“ Gnarl chimed in. „Sire, why not going back and finishing the job? Having enemies at your back is never a good idea, we lost at least three Overlords that way.“  
„These people are enemies of my enemies, Gnarl.“ Orell shook his head, still surprised how they could confuse him with a paladin. „They could be useful later. Besides, they also fight like chickens. They won't be dangerous.“  
  
Moving through the convoluted allies quickly got confusing. While Orell still had the sun and the distant voices of the protesters to orient himself, he ran so often into dead ends that he had no clue where he was in the city. While some of the dead ends were caused by walls and buildings, there was a significant amount of alleys blocked off by crates or trash heaps, with the cobblestones near the latter being slippery from the fluids oozing out of them on the ground. After conquering Nordberg, getting these roads cleaned up would have priority. This part of the city smelled worse than the fisherman districts of the Golden City. It was as if the people of Nordberg didn't realize the cold was gone to prevent the trash from rotting while it waited to be removed in bulk. But at least the few people they ran into weren't a hassle. Many vanished behind doors the moment they saw him and the Minions, some fled, but a significant number simply stepped out of the way, as if the Minions and wolves following Orell were something completely normal within the walls of Nordberg.   
The Minions suddenly jolted as a loud sound rung through the air. Some of the wolves started to howl as a response, with their riders immediately trying to get them quiet again. It was the alarm bell being finally rung. Orell tensed up. It meant either that the whole city and its remaining paladins were informed about their presence or the protesters were now attacking the paladins. Neither was good. He quickened his pace and continued searching for a way out of the maze of alleys.  
  
In their frustrating search for a way to the Northern part of the city while avoiding the main road, Orell and the horde ended at a high stone wall. The plaster was withered, with different small plants having gained a foothold in the gaps and several of the stones had fallen out. This must be a part of the old city wall, the same Orell had seen before the protesters ran into him. It was frustrating to realize he went so far off-trail, but now he had something proper to orient himself. Luckily, the Nordbergians were smart enough not to build directly at the crumbling wall, leaving a free trail along it. But unfortunately, this trail was particularly popular to drop off the things the populace didn't need.   
Trying not to slip on the filth, Orell went to the right along the wall, in search for an old gate, stairs or simply a place where the wall had crumbled down so far it could be crossed.   
They did find a crossing in the shape of a flight of stairs leading up the side of the wall. Compared to the wall itself, it was well-maintained, with the stepping stones seemingly having been replaced not long ago. On top of the wall Orell noticed there were houses even built there, small, shabby huts preserved for the lowest of beggars who couldn't afford a place with a ground that wasn't in danger of collapsing. Several people immediately ran into their huts the moment they saw the armoured man and the Minions. One particularly brave youth clad in rags and sheep fur held his stick out in defense, his eyes sparkling in his smeared face. Orell paid no heed to him.   
Instead, something shining in the distance caught his eye.   
„I am sure the beggars here adore the view. There is nothing better than rubbing their poverty under their noses by displaying riches in their proximity,“ Gnarl commented. „It's certainly a step up from the marble idol of the walking lard barrel Borius.“  
The shining object was the golden statue of a nude, handsome man with his face turned upwards and his arms spread out. The six-rayed halo around his head undoubtedly marked the statue as a presentation of the sun god Punarim. Orell frowned at the sight. This was the main deity of Aurenthuria's human clergy, which the paladins belonged to.  
„But all the gold would look even better in your treasury, Sire.“  
Orell thought for a moment about how to even bring this statue to the treasury, before he remembered that Ingrid wanted to have it removed from Nordberg. If the other Nordbergians had a similar feeling about the idol in their town, they would surely be helpful in that part. This 'problem' would be left for later, finding a way down the old city wall on its northern side and then reach the town hall was more urgent.  
  
Just after descending the stairs, they ran into another obstacle.  
„Why does it always have to be barriers which your current Minion tribes cannot cross?“ Gnarl sighed.   
The obstacle in question was a small lake. There were several small piers built into it, probably as handy places for fishing or washing clothes, but there was not a single bridge connecting the part Orell was standing on and the Western shore, where he needed to go to. The two shores were connected by the wall of a large stone building of unknown function, and as long as Orell couldn't walk on walls, this way was barred. The only other chance was the path that led to the North, possibly into another maze of houses and filth heaps. He was not having time for this; the alarm bell was still ringing and the distant, agitated voices that could belong to the protesters, the city militia or the paladins became louder and more numerous. But this way was the only one he could see and keeping himself to the narrower-alleyed parts of the city was his best choice to reach the town hall without much hassle, both due to being less visible and due to potential fights being more manageable in such confined places.   
Orell was about to take the path to the North, when he heard a soft whistle. He turned around to see the door of the stone building open, with the head of an elderly man poking out. To Orell's surprise, he was waving at him in a gesture to come closer. Warily, Orell followed the gesture, he was not ruling out an ambush. The Minions were sharing his sentiments, growling and their weapons being raised.  
„Put the weapons down, I want to help you.“  
Orell eyed the man at the door. „What?“  
„Help you to get the Golden Empire and its bloody sheep out of Nordberg. Come in. This old barrack has a second door at the other side.“   
Orell raised an eyebrow while still staring at the man without moving. The elder had a thick grey moustache that must have been red once and he wore the typical attire of the Nordbergians, but something was off with the clothes. The cut was slightly different and the fur trims were not coming from sheep, but were exceptionally densely-haired and snow-white. Orell realized what the animal the fur came from was and understood. Commanding the still wary Minions to follow, he stepped into the building.  
„I'm relieved you accepted my help, Sire. Even if I see you are not the Witch Boy, your reign will do so much good for Nordberg,“ The elder said as he closed the door behind the last Minion.  
„But why do you believe it will?“ Orell asked him ingenuously. „Wasn't it said the Devil Emperor ruled the lands in a reign of terror and Aurenthuria freed the enslaved people from him to spread Good across the world?“   
„Bah, they can shove their Good where the sun never shines,“ the man said, making a throwaway gesture. „We were once a proud people, fighting for everything we had, and now look at what has become of us. Sissy sheep tenders and flower farmers! The people must learn again what it is like to live, like in the good old times. This way, Sire.“ He hobbled onwards, through the dimly-lit hallway.  
„Interesting views of matters the man has,“ Gnarl commented. „Hm, if I had met him a few decades earlier, we Minions would have tried whether he would have been a suitable master. Not criticising your work of course, Sire.“  
Orell gave the man a sceptical look as he followed him. If there was one thing Aurenthuria did right in Nordberg it was teaching the populace how to farm; otherwise they would't have survived the events that happened after his predecessor conquered it.   
It was said the Devil Emperor took Nordberg by fire, Everlight by water and the Vainglorious Empire by pestilence, but having read up on the actual events in the _Chronology of Evil_ , he knew that 'took Nordberg by fire' referred to the previous Overlord setting the tar deposits near Nordhaven on fire to melt a ship free. The burning tar heated the air and earth so much it had caused the climate shift in Nordberg. Orell was sure that, like with normal fires, the area around will cool down with time, sooner or later, but he didn't know a method to accelerate the process, except maybe with the use of very powerful magic he didn't possess. It was only with the help of the shift from hunting and fishing to sheep herding and farming that allowed the Nordbergians to survive the temperature change, after the seals vanished from the shores and the other animals retreated into the dense forests that started to grow everywhere. But how to tell that to the people?  
„You come at a good time, Sire, an entire star of the knights in shining armour has gone out to chase down a bunch of forest creatures being pesky,“ the elder changed the topic.  
„How many stars are in Nordberg, overally?“  
„Exactly three, with the paladin-commander Kael included.“  
Orell nodded, this was good news. Quickly counting the amount of paladins they had encountered and subsequently killed and adding them to the group of seven paladins locked outside the town's confines, only five paladins would be left to deal with now at most, with only one of them being in a leading position. But he wasn't sure what he had to expect from said leader; every promotion of paladins to roles higher than star leaders was loudly announced in the Golden City with parades and celebrations, but he never heard of any of the promoted paladins being called Kael. He must have been promoted during Orell's time in the dungeons, which either meant Kael was an inexperienced beginner at leading or he was a prodigy that had shot through the ranks.  
They had reached the other end of the hallway, which ended in another door. The man placed a hand on the door's handle.  
„If you want to reach the town's square, take the right way along the lake's shore, turn left at the lantern pole into the alley, pass three houses, then left at the larger road and left again when it reaches a sharp turn. You will enter the town's square from its side this way and could ambush the bastards with their trousers down.“  
Orell stepped out of the door and back into the bright light of the outside, with the Minions scuttling around him, expecting attackers coming from around the corners. He wanted to turn around to thank the elder for the help, but he found the door to be closed already.  
  
Following the elder's directions, Orell heard the town's square before he saw it on his way. A voice was shouting something and it was regularly interrupted by loud cheering. Telling his Minions to stay behind, he walked ahead to take a look at what was going on.  
Orell observed the situation on the square from in between the houses. The source of the shouting voice was a paladin standing on top of a crate next to three other light warriors and giving a rousing speech to a group of armed Nordbergians, which were cheering in agreement to his words and waving their weapons. Orell immediately realized these people were not the same as the protesters, since these were wielding actual weapons; short swords, spears, bows and something that looked like throwing harpoons. This must be the town militia, and in contrary to the protesters, these were in support of the paladins. Orell waved the Minions to his side and waited for the right moment to strike.  
„We will rid Nordberg of the Evil that fell upon it!“  
Cheering.  
„And then we will rid the outskirts of Evil, once and for all!“  
Even louder cheering.  
„Go, men, bring the light forwards!“  
With this, the militia cheered and screamed the loudest, beating the shafts of their spears and harpoons against the cobblestones, before they turned around and began to storm towards the main road that led to the South, the four paladins following them closely. This was the moment Orell called Canis forward and sent him with his wolf riders on the militia's heels.  
The first paladin was thrown down by Canis' wolf when the incited people noticed they were attacked from behind. Some threw their weapons down and ran for their lifes, the more courageous rest clumsily turned around, bumping and stepping on each other's feet. While the wolf riders engaged the paladins, the shield carriers, Chasm and the rest of the Browns flanked the riders' sides to keep the townsfolk from aiding the paladins.   
The sudden attack had one paladin killed and another incapacitated, but the other two had brought their longswords up and fought back. One of the wolves yelped and fell, its infuriated rider quickly followed when he blindly attacked his mount's slayer. His death wasn't futile, as it created enough distraction on the paladin's side for another Minion to stab his kneecap through a gap in the armour and the paladin was quickly dispatched when he fell to the ground. The last paladin lost his life through a member of the militia who was shoved into him, causing him to lose his foothold. The chance was taken immediately by a particularly brisk Brown with a spiked mace.  
The militia itself didn't fare better. Despite the men being armed with actual weapons as opposed to the protesters with their farming tools, it was clear they had never been in a real battle; at most, they had chased a few wolves away from their sheep. Accordingly, the experienced Minions Orell's horde consisted of tore themselves through the assemblage of militiamen like a terrier through rats. They were aided by the Reds that were allowed to open fire on the square, mostly to keep the crowd from encircling the Minions, as there were no houses close in danger of burning. Orell was a bit sceptical to allow them to use fire first in fear they would accidentally hit the other Minions, but their aim was unmatched.  
Orell himself joined the fight after he had distributed the Minions to their positions. The view of him rattling down into the square with his sword raised was the final straw for several more of the Nordbergians, who ran away screaming. Orell had no qualms killing these people. He had to hold the city after conquering it and the militiamen being aligned with the paladins would make them a danger. They were the necessary sacrifice to wrench the whole province of Nordberg out of Aurenthuria's control and to prevent such incidents like in Faairdal in the other villages. He didn't bother sending Minions after the fleeing men, the most dangerous were those who stayed and fought. The Minions fighting the militia courteously stepped aside to let their master through to the enemy. A man shrieking with his clothes on fire ran past him, but the second wielding a sturdy spear stormed right towards Orell in an attempt to impale him on his way. Orell jumped aside and slashed out at the man, whose momentum would have carried him straight into the blade. Would, since the man was able to react in the last second and the sword whizzed past his stomach by an inch. The man, first looking down at the sword that missed him in disbelief he actually managed to avoid, quickly gathered himself again, gripped the shaft of his spear with both hands and thrust it forward. His attack was clumsy enough that even Orell who was far away from regaining his old fighting skills could deflect the spear, which he grabbed behind the head and pulled towards him. The man staggered and Orell attacked him again. This time the blade sunk into the man's chest with a grating sound.   
Orell faltered for a few moments; this was the first man he had killed himself. He watched the man gasping and clawing at the blade lodged in his chest, then falling down, with the sword sliding out of him in the process. Then, he shook his head to clear his mind. He had to get used to this, many more would have to fall to overthrow Aurenthuria. Something small but powerful hit him in the right shoulder with a snapping sound and Orell saw the front half of an arrow clattering to the ground next to the dying man's body. Behind his helmet, he grinned. After the change of armour, arrows were hardly posing a threat to him any more. In the next moment he had to lift his weapon to deflect an attack with a broadsword from another militiaman.  
The fight ended quicker than Orell had expected. As soon as enough militiamen had fallen, most of the survivors yielded and ran, with only a few particularly stubborn men remaining on the battlefield, which were quickly taken down by the Minions. Among them, one wolf and three Minions had not survived the onslaught and many were wounded. While most of them had superficial cuts, one had a broken arm, another couldn't stand anymore and two had received deeper cuts that were bleeding profusely. Orell told Gnarl to set up a Minion Gate as soon as possible to get them help.  
„Just a few minutes, Sire,“ came the response. „Flub, inform Grubby and tell Mortis to get ready!“ After the sound of a Minion saluting in the background and the sound of footsteps quickly growing quieter, Gnarl added: „Hmm, looks like we have a guest. Look to the town hall.“  
A look in the direction of the town hall showed an older, fat man with receding hair standing at the balustrade, his face pale and his two chins trembling. His rich, embroidered clothing clearly marked him as a noble foreigner. Orell's eyes narrowed. The paladins had taken Aurenthurian civilians with them? The man's appearance resembled that of a merchant. Of course, Nordberg did have several trader mansions he had passed on his way to the town square and even with the seals being gone, Nordberg was well-known for its ores and sheep products.  
„You there! Where is Kael?“ Orell shouted at the frightened trader.  
„Praying in the temple he is! Do not think you and your rat army can simply interrupt him!“  
In this part the trader told the truth; Punarim's temples were not just intended to be places of worship, but they also functioned as sanctuaries that could effectively protect anyone inside, as long as paladins were present. Certain magical artefacts in the temples were capable of amplifying a paladin's magical capabilities to unmatched levels, giving a single warrior the ability to withhold small armies from entering the building, if necessary. And with a paladin commander, Orell's chances to fight him by entering the temple were next to zero.   
Orell frowned. There was only one thing that could get a paladin out of a temple, which was his sense of honour. Orell certainly would not enjoy doing this, but the faster the paladin-commander was gone, the faster he could take care of the locked-out paladins and the lesser the chance one of them informed Aurenthuria of what had happened.  
„Go and get him, I challenge him to a duel! His code of honour obligates him to come and fight!“  
The merchant stared at him with eyes and mouth open, then slowly, he started to laugh.  
„Haha! I'm also going to ask him if he can share some of his trophies with me when he is done! Those red creatures of yours would make good decorations for my walls!“  
Still laughing, he turned around and walked away.  
Orell wiped the blood off his sword on the clothes of one of the slain militiamen and ordered the Minions to get the corpses off the town square, after they had extracted the lifeforce from them. He did not feel well in doing this. Even without the magic-amplifying qualities of the Punarim temple to aid his enemy, there was hardly any chance for him to survive a duel with a paladin commander.  
Unless he would cheat.  
After the Minion gates had dug themselves out of the road next to the town square, and the injured and dead Minions had been replaced, he called the Reds to his side and told them to take position on the roofs of the houses next to the square and wait for his commands. When the rest of the Minions were done with removing the corpses from the town square, Orell told the wolf riders among them to wait close to the side entrances and keep themselves out of sight. The rest of the Minions took positions around the town square, as an audience. Likely, nobody would notice the red ones were missing, since they were wrapped up in heavy winter clothing, like most of the Browns were.   
„Are you the one challenging me?“ a voice cut through the air.  
The owner of the voice stood on the balustrade in front of the town hall. With the exception of his head, he was entirely clad in shining white metal with golden ornaments. The helmet with the characteristic six-pronged star decoration on the visor was slung under his left arm while the longsword was held in the right. His blond hair was sheared short and only pronounced the haughtiness plastered across his face.  
„So, you are the 'black demon' the coachman was trembling about? Like I expected, it's just a bandit who put together a dress from scrap metal, trained some beasts from the forest and now believes he's the Devil Emperor's incarnate!“ Kael continued.  
„What a philistine, he would not recognize a good forge work even if the boot of said forge work was lodged in his rear!“ Gnarl shouted at the other end of the link. The rest of his complaints and obscenities were too quiet to understand.  
„But you slew my fellow men with your deceptions, terrified the populace and are consorting with evil creatures, it will be a pleasure for me to send your head to the Golden City and mount your helmet on my wall, next to those of the other foolish bandits like you!“  
Orell grew tired of the paladin's monologue. „Are you going to blabber me to death or do you plan to use anything else than just your tongue, Kael?“  
The paladin commander looked thrown off for a few moments, before his eyebrows furrowed. „Out of fairness, I will not use my shield. But do not expect any mercy, creature of Evil.“ Then, his face vanished behind the helmet and the now fully armed man jumped over the balustrade down into the town square. Orell took his sword into both hands and secured his stance.   
Kael was the first one to charge, swinging his longsword the moment Orell was in its range. Orell deflected the blade so it harmlessly slid over his plate armour, not in reach of any joints, and stepped closer to have the paladin in his own range, but Kael reacted quickly enough to get out of the blade's trajectory before it got even close to him. Orell silently cursed his luck. The paladin longsword was a good deal longer than his own and getting past its range to land a hit would be hard work. The only real advantage he saw in the duel was that both Kael's weapon and armour with additionally the tower shield strapped to his back were heavier and he might tire out first, but Orell couldn't hope on this due to himself being weakened by the time he spent in Aurenthuria's dungeons.  
Kael immediately struck out again in a wide slash that left Orell only to retreat. He seized the moment the blade was past him and thrust his sword in the direction of the paladin's armpits. His sword never reached its destination, as Kael brought his own sword back arm-first and beat the blade out of his way. Orell had to jump back to get out of the longsword's superior range again. He feigned a low attack at the paladin's legs, who didn't fall for it, but instead attacked himself. The longsword screeched obnoxiously over Orell's armour when it hit. At least it didn't hit any uncovered areas. When blocking off Kael's second attack, Orell briefly remembered that aiming for the enemy's legs was a bad idea, since it cut his own range down even further. Orell avoided the third attack and stepped slightly to the right, to slowly get the fight close to the town square's eastern entrance without looking suspicious, where the wolf riders and Reds were hidden.  
His time to strike came when Kael lunged forwards, aiming his longsword at the space between Orell's helmet and breastplate. Orell managed to catch the blade with his own, then let it slide along his sword while turning it to get into attack position himself. Behind his opponent's sword, Orell aimed at the neck. Kael prevented himself from being struck by grabbing the blade with his free hand and kicking Orell's knee, which threw him off balance. Kael wasted no time and immediately went for the created opening. Orell barely managed to block the longsword off with his gauntlet, a part of the blade still getting between the plates and reaching his skin. Kael immediately attacked again, with Orell barely avoiding being struck again, by deflecting the blade over his head.  
„Master, don't dilly-dally, send your Minions down!“   
He was not in optimal position yet, but it had to be done now, his survival so far depended mostly on his slowly reemerging reflexes and the well-crafted armour. He mentally connected with the Reds on the roofs and gave them the command to fire.  
Several balls of burning liquid splattered on Kael's armour, who bellowed with rage.  
„You want to cheat? Then fair play is over now!“ he shouted and tore the tower shield from his back to block off the following fireballs. Orell gave the second command to the mounted Browns to join the fight, who immediately ran downstairs. Orell knew how well the wolves had fared against the other paladins, with them routinely toppling the heavily-armoured men over and getting at them while they were down. However, Kael noticed them too early.  
„Not with me,“ he shouted and faced them, still having his shield directed at Orell to keep him from attacking while he was distracted. Then, his sword, shield and entire armour flashed in a bright light. Orell couldn't exactly see what he was doing from his angle, but then a blast of condensed, golden light shot out from the paladin and at the mounted Minions, which knocked them back and off the wolves. The animals tucked their tails between their legs and ran away, the Minions appeared to be dazed by the attack, staggering to get up again and unable to fight. Kael stopped paying attention to the Minions, certain there were no threat anymore, and faced Orell again.  
„I will take care of your beasts later. But first, I am going to rid Nordberg of you!“ The paladin held his shield to his left side to block the Reds' fire off and stormed forwards, his longsword aimed at Orell, who quietly swore under his helmet. The plan to use the Minions was a failure in both regards; he had the bad luck to run into one of the few paladins who were versed in the use of light magic, additionally to being a well-versed sword fighter. Orell was quickly driven into a more defensive stance, to put less strain on his already depleting energy reserves. His best chance was to have Kael captivated in the fight and to turn him around, so his shield was not in the way of the Reds' fireballs. He dodged the sword and realized too late that it was a feigned attack. Kael's shield hit him hard and made Orell stumble back, but at least he did not lose his foothold. Not giving him a chance to recover, the paladin made a wide slash he could allow himself due to his shield protecting him, which was barely blocked by Orell. The impact still shook up to his shoulder, eliciting memories of the fight with Ingrid. Kael let his longsword slide up Orell's blade and beat it out of the way for his next blow.  
A set of loud explosions interrupted him.  
„There they are! Jens, Seingred, get them!“  
Orell allowed himself a quick glance to his back, where the sounds came from. The angered protesters finally had found him. Then his attention was taken up by Kael again. Unable to use the situation he brought Orell in anymore, Kael's sword only hit metal. Orell jumped back and to the side, still in an attempt to turn the paladin around and let the Reds take care of him once the tower shield was out of the way.   
„Minions!“ The rest of the order to fight the protesters was given through a mental command. He had both hands full with Kael already, additional distractions were the last thing he needed. The cheery shouting of the rough voices told him of their compliance, although he also believed he could make out a few grumbling about how they couldn't watch the duel in the town square. Several protesters started screaming when the Minions and their weapons reached them.   
Then, something elongate and red fell into the town square, with a hissing fuse. It went off in a series of loud, popping explosions and multicoloured, sparking fire. Orell ignored it and started an attack at Kael's right side, trying to prevent the shield from getting into his way, without success. A second explosion rang through the air, much louder this time and accompanied by heavy objects collapsing and the screaming of wounded Minions. This time, it was powerful enough to let both combatants falter.   
„Master, quick, to the Minion Gate! Summon more Minions! _And use them to aid you_!“ Gnarl was sounding more hysterical than Orell had heard before.  
Orell avoided another slash with the longsword and hurried backwards to the place the Minion Gates as well as the protesters were. Thinking about the protesters, Orell could see a spark of hope in this seemingly hopeless battle. If he could get the locals between the paladin and himself...  
„Trying to flee like the coward you are, creature of darkness?“ Kael shouted, but didn't follow his opponent. Orell was first surprised why he didn't continue with his attacks, until he realized what Kael was actually planning to do.   
„But there is always light to eliminate the shadows!“ The whole metal on Kael flashed up in a bright light, which flowed to his longsword, making it glow brighter with every moment. Orell let out a short stream of curses, alongside the obscenities he heard through the Shroud. He had seen how large the range of the spell was and if the light magic had the same effect on him like on the Minions, then he would not just lose the duel. He would be eliminated, like the shadows in Kael's metaphor.  
Shadows...  
Orell only had enough time to build up an illusion with his newly-gained shadow magic. Not spending any time thinking about what to impersonate, the spell just shrouded him in a layer of vibrating smoke just before the paladin's light blast hit him. There was an impact that almost tore him off his feet and he could see the light flash through his closed eyelids, but otherwise he was unharmed. Using shadow magic to dampen the effects of light magic was a lucky guess, but it saved him. Orell faintly remembered to have read in the _Introduction_ that strong light could uncover illusions created by shadow magic and deduced from there that it might work the other way around, but the efficiency surprised him. Kael was even more surprised.  
„Master, shadow magic can negate the effects of light magic,“ Grime's voice suddenly appeared in the link. „But looks like you have figured it out yourself.“   
Grasping the opportunity at hand, Orell turned around and focused on the Brown Minion Gate to make up for the losses of the explosion and the still raging battle with the protesters. He directed them away and well out of reach of Kael's longsword, distributed across the town square to prevent them being hit all at once by subsequent light blasts. He would call them to attack when the situation was ripe.  
„Impossible,“ Orell heard the paladin mutter and faced him again to react to further attacks. Kael shrugged off the astonishment from his magic being blocked off rather quickly, then threw away his shield to grip his longsword with both hands. The Red Minions, caught up in the fight with the locals, were no issue to him and he would be better off fighting the Browns with his sword alone. He closed the distance to Orell in a sprint and charged with a flurry of fast and powerful swipes, intended to numb his opponent's arms. In a lucky strike, Orell managed to catch the blade with his own and let it slide down to the crossguard. Kael slid his own weapon down and then turned it, which locked Orell's sword against the ground. Then, he stomped on the blade to disarm his enemy.  
Instead of disarming Orell, the blade snapped in two. The broken-off piece seemed to clatter onto the cobblestones in slow motion. The positioned Minions looked on in horror, but the order to stay were they were until called had been very strong and clear.  
„Well, looks like light has won this fight as well,“ Kael said in a gloating voice and stepped back. „Even your attempt to challenge me to a fair duel and then sully it with your cheating didn't help you.“  
Defeated, Orell sank down to see his fate in the eye. At least, he made the paladin believe this.  
„Any last words or wishes before I send you down to the Abyss Serpent?“ Kael raised his sword in an angle to perform a clean execution. Since Orell remained silent, the paladin just laughed and brought his sword down.  
Orell grabbed and stopped the blade with his gauntleted left hand. The steel still bit into his wrist when he gave the sword a yank, which brought him behind its range while securing it as well.   
„Talk less,“ Orell spat out when he stabbed the remains of the broken sword into Kael's armpit.  
Remembering Chasm's lesson from yesterday, Orell quickly retreated from the longsword's reach when he yanked the broken sword out. But instead of attempting to take Orell with him, Kael just stared down at himself in disbelief while his embroidered white armour was rapidly stained with his own blood. The Minions, who didn't get the chance to aid their master, were cheering at his sudden success.  
„How... impossible...“ the paladin muttered, before he fell over, both from shock and blood loss.  
  
When Orell reached the main road connecting to the town square, he just saw the last protester being stabbed in the knee by a Brown and his skull being bashed in by another. The ground was covered in corpses and Orell felt no sorrow for a single one of them. Had he not left them back in the new parts of the town, the duel might have been ended earlier, with the Minions being able to properly aid him rather than fighting off the protesters. This was a mistake he would have to prevent in the future.  
„Master, next time don't dilly-dally like that and just outright _kill_ them!“ Gnarl suddenly spoke up. „After waiting for forty years for a new Master, I don't want you to end as a tasteless wall decoration. But good that you could fool the golden can in the end, I nearly fainted! Grime, shut up!“  
„What can I say, I have a talent for lying.“   
Reassembling his Minions and taking up the orbs of lifeforce they had picked up from the dead men, Orell reached the place where the large explosion had been. One of the wooden houses had collapsed and the singed corpses of several Browns were scattered around it. Luckily, the explosion didn't set the buildings on fire. Orell was not sure whether he had to attribute this to his luck or the alertness of the Reds to quench any fires in the city that mostly consisted of tar-impregnated wood. At the explosion site he found Canis and the other wolf riders, only with their leader left with a mount, while the rest looked pretty unhappy about their wolves having fled. Next to Canis, he also saw Chasm.  
„Nothing as good as a cultivated fight against an enemy that can put up any resistance,“ the scarred Minion said with a slight hiss in his tone.  
Orell slightly paled underneath his helmet from the sight.  
„Chasm, go to Mortis.“  
The Minion briefly looked down on himself. „This is nothing important, it missed anything vital.“  
The 'nothing important' was a wooden splinter of two centimeters in diameter lodged in Chasm's chest and long enough that Orell could see the bloodied other end sticking out of his back.  
„Go to Mortis. Now. One random push on that and it might hit something important. I need someone who can train the Minions, if I want to conquer bigger cities than this.“  
Chasm gave his master a last defiant look, but then he complied, together with the Minions put under his command.  
„Sire, I dare to remember you that should any Minion of your liking die, Mortis can resurrect them.“   
„How often was Chasm resurrected under the previous reign?“  
„Several times. At least five, if I remember right.“  
„And still, he misses several fingers and toes. What if he is going to miss an entire limb or his head the next time? I am not going to take any chances.“  
Gnarl didn't reply. Since the Reds had descended from the roofs and the Browns further away had joined the horde already, Orell decided to take care of Haeren and made his way to the town hall.  
„That is... the most cruel thing I have heard, Sire,“ Gnarl suddenly found his voice again. „Barring one of your Minions from the joys of the battlefield...“  
„Maybe, but if Minions are supposed to serve me to their demise, then Chasm is serving me better while staying in the Barracks and exercise shield carriers and more skilled fighters instead of getting into danger. His shield carriers had done a good job in controlling the militia mob and-“ Orell looked at the elevated place in front of the town hall. The merchant he had sent to get Kael out of the temple was standing there, his face pale and his finger pointed at the paladin commander's corpse lying in a pool of his own blood in the town square. His mouth was opening and closing silently like that of a fish and he slowly began to stumble back, to the town hall's door.  
„You, merchant!“ Orell shouted at the man again. „Get Haeren Bloodsheep out out of the town hall and tell him Nordberg has fallen! I might spare his life if he decides to cooperate.“  
The man suddenly burst out in a spout of barely contained laughter. It took Orell a few seconds to realize what the merchant was laughing about.   
He was not a merchant.  
„A shit I will do!“ Haeren Bloodsheep threw a rude hand gesture at Orell, the same he had seen several times being used by Grime behind Gnarl's back. „You will not get me alive!“ Then he ran the short distance to the town hall's door, tore it open and slammed it shut after him. Orell ran outside along the town square to the door with his Minions closely following. A few of the brighter ones, who realized the fat man was one of the main targets, ran ahead and shook the door's handle, only to find it barred.  
How could he confuse the governor of Nordberg with a merchant? Frankly said, Orell had not seen many governors, which did dress in very different fashions, often hardly distinguishable from the richer merchants who often simulated the style of political celebrities. If he had just asked the man from the stone building at the lake, or Ingrid for a description... Thinking of Ingrid, she would be disappointed if Bloodsheep escaped. She had done a honest work with his new armour, it had proven to be more resilient than the sword he had used. He had to return the favour. Spurred on, Orell called for the Minions carrying axes or maces.  
„Destroy the door hinges!“  
The Minions threw themselves at the doors with an enthusiasm they usually had when fighting a foe and began to hack away at the massive wooden door's weak spot. The door wings quickly became loose and Orell yanked at the right one, causing it to fall and the way into the town hall to become unblocked. He immediately sent the Minions inside.  
„Search everything diligently! And feel free to kill him.“  
Orell went into the town hall after the last Minion had run inside. The interior was dimly-lit but richly embroidered with decorations and expensive, imported furniture. Neither decorations nor furniture survived for long, as the Minions began to tear down the gobelins, knock the trophies off the walls and topple over the cupboards, but they didn't find any fat governors or secret passages.  
„Sire, I just remembered there was an escape tunnel built into the east wing of the town hall. It leads straight to Nordhaven.“ In the same moment, one of the Minions shouted from a room to the right. Orell ran to the direction of the voice, finding the excited Red next to a folded back carpet and an open trap door underneath.  
„Quick, go and catch him! The one who is successful will get a reward.“ Orell decided to send the Minions into the tunnel, as they were smaller, faster and had the advantage of being able to see in the dark.  
Several Minions tried to get into the trapdoor at the same time, resulting in them getting stuck in the entrance. One muffled scream and a thud revealed that one Minion still managed to get through. In the meantime, one of the Minions stuck in the entrance finally figured out he couldn't get through and pulled himself free, which resulted in the rest of the Minions tumbling down the trap door. Orell made a mental note not to overmotivate the Minions again. If Bloodsheep escaped because the Minions couldn't use a trap door properly it would be a very humiliating mark in his own history.  
Orell's worries turned out to be unfounded. One of the Minions stuck his head out of the trap door with an incredibly sad face expression and drooping ears.   
„Fat man escaped. Tunnel blocked off by boulders, look like freshly fallen.“  
Of course, the governor had thought of everything, even a way to block off the escape tunnel behind himself. He would have to scour Nordhaven for Bloodsheep. There was nothing for Orell to do in the town hall any more.  
  
When he stepped out of the ruined doors and into the light of the evening, Orell saw something unexpected. A few people were standing on the place before the town hall and a glance over the balustrade revealed several more in the town square. One of them was gently kicking Kael's corpse in curiosity. The Minions that emerged behind Orell rose their weapons. Orell waved them back, before he focused on the people before him.  
„What are your concerns?“  
The frontmost man, a redhead with braids in his impressive moustache, blinked a few times before he spoke. „Bloodsheep... is he dead?“  
Orell didn't give the man an outright answer. He was not sure if the man and the people behind him were one of the Nordbergians who wanted to get rid of the governor or if they were supporters of him and the paladins. „Bloodsheep is... gone. He is not in the town hall any more.“  
The man first stared at Orell with a hard-to-interpret face expression, then his moustache deformed in a grin and he began to face his comrades, one after another, who began to grin as well.  
„Is this true? The sun-worshipping sheep consorter is dead?“ the man asked, facing Orell again, who relaxed after realizing the people were on his side.  
„Not dead yet, he managed to escape while I fought the paladin. He will be found and executed.“  
The moustached man's mouth corners didn't drop at the revelation.  
„Still, Bloodsheep is not in power anymore,“ the man shouted, eliciting several retained cheers. Several doors opened and more people came out on the town square and the streets next to it.  
„The reign of the shepherd's crook has ended!“ the man shouted again, louder than before. The cheering that followed his words was not as retained this time.  
„The lord of old has returned!“ someone shouted from afar. It could very well be the elder Orell had met close to the lake.  
Several more people were shouting things, getting different amounts of cheering in response, while more and more came to the town square. Quickly, several bulky men had formed up to go out and comb Nordhaven for the escaped governor, while the rest was calling to get the mead and beer barrels out of the cellars and celebrate the end of Bloodsheep's reign. No one cared for the armoured man and the Minions surrounding him at the town hall's door.  
„I think you could use the time to assemble some Minions to secure the town, Sire.“ Gnarl had to talk louder than he usually did to overshout the populace. „And there are still paladins outside, which we still have to get rid of before they decide to ride off into the Aurenthurian empire.“  
„Did you pick out the Minions to send to Nordberg already?“ Orell asked his advisor.  
„Yes, Sire, the militia and the protesters were a fine source of lifelorce. I chose to expend twenty Minions for now, the number will be doubled with time.“  
Orell went to the side of the town square to reach the road to the South, where the Minion Gate was located at, without having to go through the now full town square itself. He stopped in his tracks when an elderly, grey-haired woman approached him.  
„Oh, looks like another reign of darkness had begun, I wondered if I would live long enough to see another one,“ the woman spoke and smiled at him. Orell noticed she was dressed oddly for a Nordbergian. The characteristic sheep fur trims were absent and a lot of the fabric consisted of white linen, cut in a fashion he was not familiar with. She also wore a few golden ornaments, which stood out from the ivory carvings and teeth most Nordbergians wore.  
„Is Gnarlie still alive? I missed the grouchy old raisin over the years.“  
Orell didn't know what to say. While he got used to old folks 'recognizing' him in the last few days, no one had ever referred to Gnarl. And with the old Minion seemingly not very willing to leave the confines of the Netherworld, this woman must have had a stronger connection to the previous Overlord than just being a local under his reign.  
„...Well, bugger me with a barbed baton“ was the only thing Orell's advisor had to say about this woman. Judging by his voice and choice of words, he was just as surprised by her as Orell was.  
„Gnarl, who is she? Do you know each other?“  
„I knew her. I knew her very well, in fact. Fifty years ago she was quite the looker and-“  
„Spit it out already.“  
Gnarl sighed. „Sire, let me introduce you to one of the consorts of your predecessor. This is former Mistress Juno.“


	8. Steps into a new direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today, Juno pervs everything up, Ingrid demonstrates hidden talents and Orell gets a glimpse of the Infected Forest from the outside, as well as its weird heighbours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, critique is appreciated.

  
The meeting went on for a hour, and still, no consensus could be reached. It was one of the rare cases where it was something Alderius actually preferred.  
„And I still say, this forest has to be burned down!“ the head priest Sayael yelled. „It spits into the eye of Punarim and everything he stands for.“  
„You will still have to take into account that Punarim is not the only god of the Aurenthurian Trinity,“ Alderius calmly said. „As an elf, I cannot agree to destroying an entire unique ecosystem. Sure, there are creatures living in the forest that are dangerous, even deadly, but all of them are children of the Mother Goddess and play an important role in the world.“ He faced Thergad Tinhammer, son of the hero Therlan Tinhammer, who had spent the most time 'debating' with his mug of beer. „Tinhammer, what does the Old One in the Mountain say about it?“  
Startled, the black-haired dwarf looked up from his mug. Then he shrugged. „Don't know, I'm not a shaman. Yes, the forest is spreading and it already reaches the Golden Mountains, but we can lop it with machines. We can't let it grow over our home and invite all its nasty blighters inside, after all. But enough of me, what does,“ he snickered for a moment, „Morning Wood say?“  
The addressed elf glared at the dwarf, who directed all his attention back on his beer, ignoring the stare. „As I said, burn it down. All those mushrooms, slugs and insects can't be children of the Mother Goddess, regardless what the druids keep telling. The Mother Goddess created her children cute and fluffy, pleasing to the eye, not armoured and slimy. When the enemies of the fluffy ones are gone and the poison from the ground extracted, the forest can grow anew, closer to the image of what the Mother Goddess had planned.“  
„But you do forget that appearance is not everything, Morning Wood.“ Alderius said. Thergad snorted into his beer again. „Without worms and slugs, hedgehogs couldn't survive.“  
Morning wanted to answer, but Jens, the delegate of the farmers, cut him short. „Fluffy, not fluffy, what does it matter? It's land. Land that could bear crops when the forest is gone. And by burning it, the land will already come with fertilizer.“  
„Are you crazy!?“ the hot-headed delegate of the craftsmen shouted. „The wood there is much more valuable than just by being burned down! The cabinet maker Rob had acquired a few wood samples from one of the elven settlements there and it's amazing! We would be far better off if we start using the forest rather than destroying it.“  
„I think I have to agree with Gernot now,“ the delegate of the nobility spoke while polishing her nails. Alderius didn't memorize her name, as she had joined the parliament only last week. And he didn't bother, the nobility changed its delegates faster than a halfling his socks. „The forest may be a sore to the eye, but think about the exclusive furniture that can be made from the wood! Surely, the traders will agree with me, will they, Makar?“  
The addressed Ruborian trader scratched the lower one of his chins in thought. „Hmm... on the one hand, the furniture and other products from the wood will possibly turn out to be very popular, both locally as well as in export. But on the other hand, the forest is in the way of establishing a land route to the area around Nordberg. I will see what the others have to say.“  
„I agree,“ the halfling Frederick said. „And instead of discussing whether to burn the Infected Forest down or not, we should put more focus on cleansing the Wastelands.“  
„Indeed,“ Alderius said, „the ooze seeping into the earth is a greater danger to us than the forest. The forest spreads, but it spreads slowly and can easily be contained by the dwarves. The ooze still gets into the water occasionally, endangering us all directly.“  
„Squeeak! Squeeksefeep squeak weesqueak squee!“ Gorhuleb the gnome shouted. He turned in his decorated high chair, a special production among the chairs in the parliament rooms, his colourful, ornate headdress that was bigger than himself nearly hitting his translator in the face. Bored, the young elf repeated the gnome's words in Common.  
„Gorhuleb the Great and Shining says that enemies of gnomehood live and breed in the forest and they must be wiped out.“  
Gorhuleb squeaked angrily and hit his translator with his baton.   
„I apologize, it's Gorhuleb the Great and Magnificient, not the Shining.“ Thergad rolled his eyes.  
„So, if I counted right,“ the yellow-robed delegate of the priests said with a malicious grin spreading over his face, „we have four against three in favour of burning the forest down, with three undecided. Looks like it's time to gather the paladins and drive the elves out of their settlements so the forest can be razed off the face of the earth.“  
„No, make it four against four,“ the trader delegate spoke. „Contemplating it, I believe the wood is more important than a land way to Nordberg. We went fine using ships.“  
„What? All you think about is the money you make to sell fancy stuff with!“ Jens shouted. „Wood isn't edible, but the crops that can grow on the land are. There is always need for new arable land to feed the population.“  
„Oh, please stop!“ the craftsman delegate shouted back. „There is enough arable land in Alsemark to feed Aurenthuria twice over! Maybe Orell was right, you peasants breed and breed and then don't know where to-“  
„Don't you _dare_ take this traitor's name into your mouth!“ the priest roared. And then, the third parliament fight of the month broke loose.   
Alderius sat on his chair, covering his eyes with his hands as he rested his head on them. As always, the fight broke out because of disagreements between the craftsmen and farmers, farmers and traders or traders and craftsmen. He heard a soft thud before him. Taking one hand off his eyes, he recognized the object on the table before him as the colourful, fur-trimmed hat of the trader delegate, who had flung it in a fit of rage as he screamed at the equally loud head priest. _This childish idiocy has to stop_ , Alderius thought. He got up from his chair and reached behind his beard to put two fingers on his throat.  
„Silence!“ he overshouted everyone else with his magically amplified voice. The bickering delegates stopped in their tracks and faced him.   
When Alderius had their attention, he took his hand down again. „It is best we discuss the matter of how to proceed with the fate of the Infected Forest tomorrow. Since Gernot mentioned the traitor, has there been any progress in finding him?“  
The head priest brushed over his hooked nose. „Not that I know of. The paladins have extended the search on the outer settlements Dawnscastle, Marshwell and Dovespin, but nothing from there, either. Hey, head guard, do you know anything about the escaped's whereabouts?“  
The head guard, standing alongside several other guards at the wall in armour and tunic looked up and answered „No!“ in a sharp voice.  
„Any traders having seen suspects in inns, any farmers having reported stolen clothes?“ the priest faced the corresponding delegates. Both shook their heads.   
„I will have to tell the paladins to extend their search further. It may look like he was swallowed by the earth, but his bones be damned by the Abyss Serpent if we don't find him.“   
  
„Enough about myself. Now, tell me something about you,“ Orell said while he leaned back in the newly-restored throne, Juno sitting adverse to him on an ornate chair from the Private Quarters, which miraculously survived the Tower's sacking. „Were you living in Nordberg or were you visiting?“  
„Oh, just travelling around a bit to see the world as long as I still can,“ Juno answered. „I was in Alsemark first, then Everlight. Southern Ruboria would have been my next destination.“  
„And where do you live?“  
„In the heart of Alsemark, the Golden City. All the wares from Aurenthuria land there, sooner or later, but it's a bit too prude for my taste. Everlight and its very, hm, open-hearted culture was a refreshing change from the uptight priesthood there. Hmm, I wonder when Gnarl is done.“  
Gnarl had said he had to urgently excuse himself for a toilet break and hadn't shown up for a few hours now. In the meantime, Orell had changed out of the armour, given Canis and a large horde of wolf riders the order to track down and kill the paladins outside Nordberg, assembled several Minions to aid the Nordbergians in finding the escaped governor and instructed the courtiers and cleaners to prepare a room for Juno in the Private Quarters. Then he had made himself comfortable in the Throne Room to talk to Juno, with the goal of finding out what Aurenthuria was planning at the moment. Aside from them, several Browns and Reds were lounging in the room, either listening or continuing to repair the remaining damages, Grime was eagerly writing down things on a piece of parchment and Quaver was loudly attempting to teach a young Brown how to use a drum.  
Orell shortly looked at Grime for an answer, but the assistant just shrugged. At this rate, the Abyss would soon not exist any more. „Maybe there are other, more important matters to take care of. Nordberg has been recently conquered and it needs Minions to hold it. There were a few rather unfortunate choices for the first taken village, at least Nordberg will now get Minions that can tell their fingers apart from their toes.“  
„Oh well, he won't run away, will he?“ Juno snickered.   
Not wanting to dwell on his advisor's whereabouts, Orell returned to the previous topic. „Since you live in the Golden City, care to tell me how matters developed in the latest years? Heralds rarely visit the dungeons, you know.“  
Juno took time with an answer; first she waved one of the courtiers to herself, to refill the wine glass in her hand. After taking a sip, she spoke. „Your incarceration had been quite the spectacle, they completely blew it over the top. Claiming you were lusting for power over Aurenthuria, quickly throwing a few supposed collaborateurs into the dungeons after you and all that. The time afterwards was pretty calm. They finally busted the river pirate ring, nominated several new paladin commanders, exchanged a few delegates in the parliament and buried the mage hero Ormas Stormhood. The theatres threw out a good play out of their program and replaced it with two bad ones, the artist guild still produces only manure and the fishermen district still reeks.“  
„And are there any plans the empire is having? Any protests, any referenda to give them away?“  
„Let me think about it, politics never interested me much... the craftsmen still want wage raises, there is that popular well-gossip about the military hiring for new conquests and claims the dwarves are developing a new type of machine... oh yes, when I left for travelling, there was a lot of mud-flinging in the parliament about what to do with the Infected Forest and whether to allow ballots on military spending or not.“  
„The Infected Forest? I never heard of such a place, where is it?“ a rough voice spoke from a corner. Gnarl had suddenly appeared out of nowhere on the throne dais and was looking at Juno with his ears askew. „And welcome back, Milady, it's nice to see a familiar face again.“  
„Indeed it is, not a single wrinkle has changed on your face,“ Juno replied with a wide smile.  
Orell let the two have their more than slightly awkward reunion, while he thought about Juno's information. The gathering of military was the most interesting thing, but since it was well-gossip it could also mean the hiring was for cleaning personnel. He was both surprised and uneasy by the mention the existence of the Infected Forest was on discussion; surprised they took so long to bring it up with all the complains about it and uneasy because he knew there were elven settlements that called the forest their home.  
„And, still chasing the skirts, Gnarlie? I haven't seen a single one of them here yet, your new master isn't the type for that, or is he actually-“  
„Mylady, please, not here,“ Gnarl pressed out with a side glance at Orell. „Let us talk about the forest you mentioned first. I was spending forty years here without leaving, it looks like the world has changed more than usually in the meantime. Where does it lie?“ He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a piece of parchment.  
„Hmm...“Juno looked at the slowly spinning spires of the portal in the middle of the room. „To the north of Alsemark, which means it's south from Nordberg and east from the Golden Mountains range.“  
„That is pretty unspecific, maybe you can show?“ Gnarl held the parchment up for Juno to see. Orell got up to take a look himself.   
„Oh my, that map is so outdated,“ Juno said after one look. Even Orell, who remembered the appearance of the world only vaguely, recognized several differences. The northeastern strip labeled as 'Nordberg' in squiggly letters was painted in white, with a few snow-covered trees drawn in, a walrus seal at the coast and a whale in the sea. And the Grim Wastelands... Orell couldn't believe they were that big once, stretching out to the Golden Mountains. Juno's gnarled finger jabbed at the place Orell was looking at.   
„Here it is. Extending from here,“ the finger described a bean-like shape in the jagged mountains and the bright blue ooze on the map, „to there.“  
Gnarl raised his eyebrows. „Hm, I have never expected the ooze vanishing that fast, or that any part of Evernight had survived... a shame that it did.“  
„There was an extensive ooze-removal program started by the Golden City not long after it had formed,“ Juno replied.   
„Oh, that is good news. Maybe they finally uncovered the area around the old Tower, surely some valuable artefacts have survived the Cataclysm.“ Then Gnarl's ears dropped. „But that also explains why there was no feedback from the old Gates in the Wasteland. And thinking about what they wanted to do to the Spell Stone, these blasted paladins likely destroyed anything they found! Sire, you must go there and stop them!“  
Orell looked at Juno instead. „Why did they bring the forest up now? Why do they only care now about it, despite the numerous complains about it for years?“  
Juno snickered. „Oh, the usual. If farmers try to settle there and get eaten, there is a little bit of shouting, but it is quickly forgotten. If a merchant caravan dares to take the route through it and gets eaten, there is a little bit more shouting and compensations, then it gets forgotten, too. But if the son of a big fish goes hunting there for fun, a pack of the invisible snake monsters kills him and only two lower servants of the hunting expedition return to tell the tale, the big fish will set a lot of money into movement to have forest burned for the death of his son. And exactly that had happened to Count Doran.“  
„Invisible snake monsters...“ Gnarl muttered under his breath, stroking his goatee in thought. Quaver, meanwhile, broke out in hysterics when the Brown he tried to teach broke the drum's hide.  
„He has good relations to the clergy, that is pretty well known,“ Juno continued. „Riling them up and with them the paladins was easy. The rest of the parliament fractions he tried to buy to his side, but the Keepers are strongly opposing his attempts and the local loggers quickly joined.“  
„I did hear that somewhere,“ Gnarl continued to mutter.  
„It has been quite amusing to watch all that. There have been four changes of the nobility delegates during the time the forest's fate had been discussed, two of them having been poisoned. I'm sure the accident of the third was not-“  
„Sire, the Green Minions!“ Gnarl suddenly shouted, startling several listening Minions. Both Juno and Orell turned to face him. „'Invisible snake monsters' was a term for them being used in Spree for a long time, the smelly buggers often went to live in the forests around the Mellow Hills when there was no Overlord to lead them. Forget the Wastelands, we need to get your Minions out before they get roasted along with the forest! Grime, get Grubby, we have a Gate location to discuss!“  
Grime grinned and nodded, but threw one of his obscene hand gestures at Gnarl as soon as he turned around, then ran in the direction of the abyss, to the floating stones.  
„I wouldn't be that worried, Gnarl,“ Orell said, „the Aurenthurian parliament had never decided anything faster than in a year.“  
„While it might be like that, Sire, I wouldn't rule out the vengeful count will take matters into his own hands,“ Gnarl warned him. Juno was entirely elsewhere with her thoughts.  
„The green guys are the invisible snake monsters in the forest? I do miss the smelly little bastards, it was so fun having them around. Always stole my underwear, then left it in places no one could reach. And Jorit then bought me new ones.“  
Gnarl grinned at the mention, but Orell wanted to find a new topic quickly, the former Mistress always seemed to diverge into themes he didn't want to think about.  
„The chronology of the Overlord history mentioned you weren't his only Mistress. What were the other two like?“  
„Well, there was Kelda, an old childhood friend of his. Very boorish woman, rather plain in appearance and with the personality of a dwarf. There were rumors about her being pregnant with his child when I left the Tower, my presence 'not being required any more'. I wonder if it survived, likely she skinned it after birth and made it into a purse. And then there was Fay, the ghost of a fairy who was his opponent before she joined him. Jorit first corrupted her and then killed her out of mercy. She might still haunt the place, don't get spooked when you see a whining, depressing ghost floating around.“  
„In fact, I haven't seen her for the past ten years,“ Gnarl chimed in. „After the old Overlord died, she only sporadically showed up, wailing in the Private Quarters and leaving ectoplasm behind, which the cleaners always complained about. Hm, looks like Grubby finally arrived.“  
Orell turned his head to look in the direction of the Abyss and see two Minions approaching the throne dais. One was Grime, the other one must be Grubby. He was a good deal larger than Gnarl's assistant and wore an oversized, badly-fitting helmet that appeared like it had been made for a dwarf. A pickaxe in his right hand rounded his digger appearance off. Not having met his master yet, the Minion bowed before Orell, then quickly focused on Gnarl and the map he held.  
„Try to have the Gate in the northwestern corner of the forest,“ Orell said. „There are elven settlements in that area, it is one of the more secure places.“  
„Elves, all they are good for is testing new weapons and as sources of lifeforce. And entertainment when set on fire,“ Gnarl frowned. „Better pick a more secluded place, the faster your Greens are found, the better. Any time spent with elves will only hinder you.“ Grubby was torn between the conflicting information, constantly looking from Gnarl to Orell and back.  
Orell gave his advisor a long, hard stare. „Or, the elves can guide and give directions, since they are calling the forest their home and might know there the Greens are living. And if the Golden City plans to burn down their home, they might turn out to be useful allies.“  
„Fine. Grubby, try to find a place for a Gate in this area.“ Gnarl pointed at a place on the map. „As close to the forest as possible, but not inside it.“ He handed the map to the digger, who took it and ran off.  
„That is quite the distance to dig, unless there is an existing Tower Gate in the area, he probably won't be done until tomorrow,“ Gnarl said. „And now excuse me, there is roasted militiaman waiting for me in the Barracks.“  
Orell looked after the advisor hobbling off to the floating rocks. Juno noticed the expression of disgust on his face. „You will get used to that quickly. But I will have to excuse myself now, too, it must be late at night already.“ Drudgingly, she got up from the chair. „Care to accompany me up the stairs?“   
„I'm afraid not,“ Orell politely declined. „I still have a few important things to do.“ He waved the courtiers that were serving them to Juno's side.   
„Good night, then,“ she said while going up the spiral stairs behind the throne, which led to the Private Quarters.  
„Good night. And don't wonder about the horse in the bathroom!“ Orell called after her. He reminded himself to bring the horse into the stables in Nordberg tomorrow.  
  
He still had a few important things to do. Ingrid had turned out trustworthy and now it was his part of the deal that had to be fulfilled. As Orell flew up on a floating rock to the Forge, he was still worried about what Ingrid would say about Haeren having escaped rather than being dead, like she wanted. Then the rock docked at its destination and he had to go through it.  
Despite no work having been ordered, the Forge was surprisingly alive. The news of Nordberg being conquered had reached it as well and the personnel had been expanded after the large inflow of lifeforce. A few Browns and Reds were at the anvil, hammering out the rough shapes of armour pieces that, judging by their sizes, were meant to be worn by Minions, but the majority was busy with eating, drinking and having fun. A glance into the niche at the wall revealed that Ingrid had left it; instead, there were two Reds who obviously had looked too deep into their mugs. Looking around, Orell spotted a taller figure among the Minions standing some distance away, standing by a platform in front of broken tubes and roaring lava falls. She noticed his presence when he had crossed the half of the stairs leading to the platform and turned to face him, but stayed where she were. Giblet, who stood next to her, turned around as well.  
„I come to thank for the good work on the armour you did. It has shown its worth in battle and I'm going to keep my word about removing the chains.“ Orell had to overshout the noise of the lava falls.   
Ingrid didn't even look at the keys in Orell's hand. „What about Haeren Bloodsheep? Did you throw his carcass out to the wolves?“  
Orell didn't reply immediately, he wasn't sure how she would take the news. „Bloodsheep... escaped, through a tunnel in the town hall. Both Minions and Nordbergians went out to search him, he surely will be caught soon.“  
To his surprise, Ingrid reacted surprisingly calm. „That was expected of him. He reigned like a coward and ended his reign like a coward.“ Then, her expression changed. „But now, he reigns no more and that is the most important thing. I am glad the people now can throw away their crooks and live like they did before, hunting seals in the winter and fishing in the summer.“  
„And how exactly will they do it?“ Orell gave her a crooked sarcastic grin. „Travel to the sea, build shelters out of the nonexisting ice and throw harpoons at nonexisting seals?“  
Before Ingrid could say something, Orell continued. „The times have changed. The ice and the seals are gone and it is uncertain when or even if they return.“  
„But the Sun God and his followers have been purged from Nordberg!“ Desperation crept onto her face.“With the old gods reinstated, the ice and seals will return.“  
„The gods are not responsible for the change. The burned tar pits were. It doesn't matter what gods are worshipped, the return of the ice is out of your and my hands.“  
Desperation quickly changed to anger. „Tar pits burned by the Demon Lord! How can you be so sure you can't do a thing if it just took a little fire to change Nordberg so much?“  
„How can I not revive the dead if it takes just a little stab to kill someone? Doing one thing can be easy, reverting it can be impossible. Changing what the Demon Lord did is out of my power.“  
„Just stop with these stupid comparisons!“ She was now literally screaming at Orell, who stepped back. „Thousands of years we lived with the sea and now we have to stick to the crooks? You have absolutely no-“  
Ingrid suddenly stopped dead in her track, Giblet was fixating her and letting out a loud growl. Her anger dissipated almost instantly.  
„I'm sorry for the outburst. This is just a thing I am very passionate about, and I really hoped the removal of the Sun God worship would change things.“  
Orell was surprised how easily the Forge Master had defused the situation. A few seconds ago, he thought Ingrid would grab him and fling him over the balustrade into the abyss. „Honestly, if there is a way to return Nordberg to its former glory, I would try it. There is a lot Aurenthuria did with other nations I find disagreeable, but the crooks have saved the people of Nordberg, they cannot cast them away now, unless they want to starve. And that is something the entire populace of Nordberg needs to understand, because if they stop farming now, there is no chance they can reinstate their culture again at all. I will need you tomorrow at Nordberg's town hall to convince them.“  
Ingrid cast a short glance to Giblet. „I think I understand your point now, Successor of the Demon Lord.“  
„Call me Orell.“  
She didn't back away when Orell bent down to unlock the chains on her legs. „Waiting is something the people of Nordberg are familiar with.“ The shackles clattered to the ground. Ingrid picked them up and looked at the chain. „And a wait for freedom is a worthy wait. I will come tomorrow.“  
She cast the shackles over the balustrade and watched them fall into the Abyss, along with the roaring lava falls.  
  
With Ingrid's freeing being done, Orell boarded the floating rock again, this time to the Barracks. Despite the rocks still flying at neck-breaking speeds above a bottomless abyss, it didn't bother him at all any more. As the rock reached the wall perforated by caves, Orell started looking out for a Minion to lead him to Chasm. It was late and he wasn't eager to stumble through the maze of caves and tunnels the Minions called their home for hours. He called the first Minion he saw to himself and tried his best at hiding his disgust and ignoring the fried human hand the Brown was chewing on.  
„Can you... lead me to Chasm.“  
The Minion grinned, showing his sharp, irregular teeth with meat fibres in between, gobbled up the entire hand in one go, then ran ahead. Orell had to run himself to keep up with him. The Minion led his master through the caves, past huts and aggregations of Minions, both Browns and Reds, celebrating their success in taking over Nordberg. Chasm was found in a larger cavern next to a fire, with no traces of the chest wound he got in the battle. Several more Minions were around the fire, among them two of the shield carriers and a Red with impressive horns dressed in multiple paladin armour pieces, as well as Quaver, who strummed on his lute, regularly looking up and tending to the spitroast above the flames. Orell almost recoiled in distaste when he recognized it was a half-eaten man slowly spinning on the spitroast. Orell positioned himself in a way he didn't have to look at it while talking to Chasm. Unfortunately, he couldn't block out the smell as easily.  
He decided to play it nice. „Chasm, the shield carriers did magnificent work in the conquest.“ The scarred Minion looked up. „I want you to focus on training more of them. And expand the abilities of those you have already trained. Secondarily, I want skilled sword fighters.“  
Chasm nodded. „Will train them until the next mission.“  
And there went his attempt to play nice. „Actually, I would like it if you train them beyond. The next mission is scheduled for tomorrow, going into unknown and dangerous lands. I will take some of the already trained shield carriers with me, but I would prefer you to stay here and train more shield carriers. I can't guarantee the ones already trained will survive, nor can I guarantee your survival.“  
Chasm tensed up. „I am good at survival. And where I wasn't, Mortis always brought me back.“  
„Did he bring you back from the ooze?“ Referring to the ooze was a lucky guess in the Infected Forest, as Orell didn't know whether it was still present in the once-covered area the forest grew in, but he knew very well of the cases where clean-up workers in the Grim Wastelands accidentally came in contact with it or when rivers were contaminated, spreading its disease through adjacent villages and towns.  
Chasm sank back again „Bringing back from the ooze is impossible. Good Minions have been lost in it forever. But I have experience with it.“  
„I will take you with me when your fighting skills are needed, but now, I need all the shield carriers and trained fighters I can get. Is Canis needed for the training?“  
„Canis is training the wolves, I train the Minions.“  
„I will take him with me, then. A keen nose would be very helpful for sniffing out the Green Minions.“  
Orell turned away to face the Minion he had asked to lead him, who was chewing on a piece of meat again. He was happy do be done here and could finally get away from the smell of the spitroast, it slowly started to make him nauseous. „Now, lead me to the hole where the corpses and skeletons lie.“ The Minion set his ears askew. „I need a new sword, my old one broke.“  
The ears still askew, the Minion began to run ahead, away from Chasm and the rest and further into the tunnels. Possibly, the Minion was not sure why Orell wanted to take weapons from the trash heap, he looked to be young enough to not have been present when Orell first visited the hole.   
They reached the familiar cavern faster than Orell had expected. It had changed a little during the days he was in the Netherworld: there were numerous freshly-built huts around the hole, some of them still only half-constructed and the remains in the hole itself were stripped of their equipment further. Orell curled his nose, he would have to dig in the pile to get an intact weapon. He will have to ask Giblet for a newly-forged sword as soon as possible, but for the time, one of the swords of the dead raiders would do it. He only hoped it would not break like the last one in a most inconvenient moment.  
  
In the next morning, Orell was happy that he didn't require Mortis' help again. Either the robed Minion had healed him completely yesterday when mending the cuts and bruises Orell had sustained during the duel with Kael or he was actually starting to get used to the activities. Still, Scruffy almost immediately shot into the room when called. Orell couldn't help but believe her face was disappointed seeing him dressed and ready, at the table having just finished the leftovers of yesterday's parsnip soup.  
„Inform the Minions to get the horse bitted and out of the Private Quarters, move it to the portal. It should wait for me there.“  
Bringing the horse to the stables of Nordberg was the best thing to do. He wouldn't require it in the Infected Forest, as the place was known for the trappy roots covering the ground that had cost the lifes of numerous horses any expeditions had brought into it.  
As soon as Scruffy's footsteps had faded away, Orell pushed the curtains aside himself. There was a lot to do today. Getting the Green Minions out of a forest that was said to be the most dangerous place of the Aurenthurian Empire was something he didn't want to procrastinate on, especially with the danger of everything being burned looming over it. But it was not the forest and its dangers that was worrying him the most right now. After convincing Ingrid yesterday, he now had to convince an entire city. Before he put the armour on and started today's business, he had an urgent meeting with the latrines.  
  
When Orell went down into the Throne Room, he was surprised to see Ingrid there, Giblet by her side. She was still wearing her forging attire, but some of the pieces have been replaced with new, clean ones and the apron had been taken off. It was clear why she came to the Throne Room, likely one of the Minions had informed her about his current plans. Juno was nowhere to be seen, neither did he meet her in the Private Quarters. Orell looked around for Gnarl and found him standing some distance away on the throne dais. Very likely he wanted to stay away from Ingrid as far as possible; after all, it had been his idea to undress and shackle her to the throne as an 'evil decoration'.  
„Good morning, Master. Everything is ready for your little motivation speech in Nordberg. It's a good time to talk to the citizens, Sire, they tend to be be less violent when hungover.“  
Orell had a few other questions to be answered first. „Any new reports on Bloodsheep and the locked-out paladins?“  
Gnarl folded his hands in thought. „Canis had returned during the night, with all seven helmets taken as trophies. He only lost one Minion to the leader. But unfortunately, no trace of Bloodsheep has been found. Both Minions and townsfolk have scoured Nordhaven, but even with the help of the wolves nothing could be found. Strange, as if the sheep-humping scoundrel had flown away without leaving traces, I wouldn't have expected him to be that good at hiding.“  
„Were there any boats or ships departing?“  
„Not since yesterday morning. The harbour had been closed after the search for Bloodsheep began, him having escaped by ship can be ruled out.“  
Orell cast a side glance at Ingrid. „Extend the search to Nordhaven's surroundings. And search Nordberg itself, it is possible he fooled us with the escape tunnel and still hides in the town. Also, I want Minions for the Infected Forest prepared. Canis is coming with me, while Chasm remains in the Barracks to train shield carriers.“  
Gnarl grinned. „Will be done, Master.“ Then he turned to his assistant Grime to give him the detailed instructions about the search organisation.   
Feeling he was done with the advisor, Orell approached the two blacksmiths. „I am glad to see you here, Ingrid.“  
She gave him a short look. „I will suggest the horse stays here. While the armour might have a purpose in you being recognizable as the Demon Lord, horses have been brought to Nordberg by the sun worshippers and the people are sick of people talking to them from horseback.“   
The horse Ingrid was referring to was standing next to the depression of the portal, with Scruffy holding the reigns, staring at Orell with a hopeful expression.  
„It's not for looking down on the people, it's just meant to be brought to the stables. It seems this place lacks them and I wouldn't trust a horse in a place with unsecured ledges and creatures that eat virtually everything around anyway. The bathtub simply isn't a good place to keep it.“  
Ingrid showed a badly-restricted grin on her face. „Then, I am ready.“  
Orell walked towards the pit underneath the spinning spires. „I will go through the portal first. The way it works can be a bit unsettling and it's better to have seen it first.“  
  
Orell had hardly left the portal's steps when he saw the light pillar briefly flash up in a brighter blue and Ingrid stumble out of it with a slightly pale face. Nordberg was nearly empty and the cold air was filled with mist, allowing only a tree's length of visibility. Next to the portal, groaning was heard, coming from a red-haired man hanging over a barrel and waking up from his alcohol-induced stupor. Orell and Ingrid walked over the wooden platform which overlooked the town square.  
„Nobody is here yet,“ Ingrid remarked. The Netherworld gate flashed up again and a frightened whinny was heard. The Minions leading the horse had their hands full in preventing it from fleeing.  
„In this case it's best to just stand in the middle and shout everything out,“ Orell told her. He placed both hands on the platform's balustrade.   
„Dear people of Nordberg! Haeren Bloodsheep's and with him Aurenthuria's reign has ended,“ he shouted into the mist. A few drunkards lying in the streets and between the crates in the town square raised their heads. „But I warn you for your own wellbeing, do not cast away your crooks and leave your sheep for the wolves to set out to the shores and hunt seals like your ancestors!“   
Windows and doors were opened, just like in Faairdal a few days ago. But even though he had removed a hated governor this time, rather than taking them unwillingly by deception and force, the faces peeking out were more hostile than fearful. He had to list the reasons as quickly as possible.  
„The climate around Nordberg has changed. The seals are gone and the swarms of fish might be gone as well. There is no ice on the land and on the sea, while grass is growing everywhere. The sheep helped you all to survive the changed environment, giving them up now will make you all suffer from hunger!“  
„Then fix the weather!“ someone shouted from the streets. More people were peeking from their houses and more of them were emerging from them. Outrage was the dominating emotion he could see on their faces.  
„Fixing the weather lies outside of my powers,“ Orell replied. „It will cool down over time, but it is uncertain how fast it will happen. As long as it doesn't and the seals aren't back, the sheep are your lifeline and giving them up will lead to you all starving!“  
Something flew past Orell's head and collided with the town hall's wall with a wet splat. Before Orell could say anything, Ingrid suddenly started to speak to the populace that got angrier with every moment.  
„Dear people of Nordberg! I am Ingrid, the blacksmith from Faairdal! All my life did I forge both for you and for the sun worshippers, but my blood and bones are those of Nordberg!“  
The anger and outrage on the faces quickly began to change into confusion.  
„As a proud Nordbergian, I can tell you that one of our virtues is our ability to wait. Our ancestors had waited on their hunts for the seals to emerge from their holes before they threw the spear. Every year, they waited for the winter and for the seals to return. I forged for the sun worshippers from the warm south, but I waited and now they were driven out of the land!“  
There were a few half-hearted, retained cheers coming from the gathering crowd.  
„And now, dear people of Nordberg, I tell you to wait! Wait, like our ancestors waited for the seals, waited for the winter!“  
The cheers following were less half-hearted. Orell watched in disbelief how the confusion was replaced with grins and raised arms.  
„Do not forget your innate virtues, people! You will have to herd sheep, but you will wait for the seals to return, for the big winter to come! And when they come, you will revive our culture of old, cast aside your crooks and pick up the harpoons, _knowing that with patience comes success_!“  
The third wave of cheers was even louder. The only sour faces left were those of the people clutching their heads from the pain that came over them at the morning after a heavy drinking.  
Orell stared impressed at the blacksmith. „Where did you learn this?“  
Ingrid's right mouth corner moved up slightly. „I just know them better.“   
  
Despite her being free now, Orell was mildly surprised Ingrid returned with him to the Throne Room. They parted at the portal's pit, where Ingrid went with Giblet to the direction of the abyss to return to the Forge and Orell headed to the throne dais, where Gnarl and Juno were standing. There were no pressing matters to do here for now, neither in the Netherworld nor in Nordberg. He had to go into the unknown now, to a place that was famous for the many lost lives in it. It was better to go now, instead of getting lost in thought about it and hesitating.  
„The peasants are all happy now? And more important, Master, are you ready?“ the old advisor spoke.  
„I am. What about the Gate and the Minions?“  
„Grubby set it up on the western border of the forest, on a grassy plain. The scouts that were sent through the Gate first reported an elven settlement right at the forest's border. As for the Minions, twenty Reds and Browns each have been readied and are thirsting for battle in their Spawning Pits.“  
„While I am away, tell Giblet to make a sword for me, of medium length and a wide crossguard. I feel like the old swords in the Barracks are not suitable to fight the paladins. You saw it yourself in Nordberg.“  
While Gnarl showed confusion for a moment, then put on an exaggerated, fake knowing grin, Juno snickered slightly.  
„Speaking of forging and swords, a nice lady you got there for Giblet. I did hear from Gnarlie that she managed to convince the donkey-headed Nordbergians to keep herding sheep, all by herself. A very impressive feat, considering their thoughts about the sheep over all the years. She is a spirited, smart lass, play it well with her and she will be all yours, hehe.“  
Orell gave her a disturbed look, but didn't say anything. He turned around and headed for the portal. After Juno's words, the Infected Forest seemed a good deal more appealing, it would engage and prevent his thoughts from lingering on about... that.   
He descended into the portal's pit, looking up at the rotating spires and the blue light from below. Then he looked at the throne dais again.  
„How do I activate a portal to a place I have never been at?“  
„Concentrate on the light and on the feeling of a teleportation,“ Gnarl shouted back. „The portal has been set up to bring you to the new Gate already!“  
Still not entirely convinced and with a lingering fear to be stuck in the nothing between the portals, Orell looked up again and focused on the blue light. Rather than imagining the appearance of a familiar place, he imagined the weightlessness, the pulling feeling and the cracking of lightning he had experienced on his previous uses of the portal. Imagination quickly turned reality, the plates of the pit pulled back to reveal the abyss below and before he could fall, the blue light from the spires above swallowed him.  
  
The fear of being stuck in between the portals was unfounded. When the light faded, Orell was standing on a Netherworld Gate, surrounded by grassy hills and a cloud-covered sky, with a tall mountain range looming blue in the distance. It was almost looking like Nordberg, weren't it for the grass being taller and darker. He turned around to look at the surroundings, and he saw it was not Nordberg at all.  
The Infected Forest took up the entire view. Rather than looking like an conventional forest, it rather resembled a gigantic sheet of impenetrable green, spanned over numerous heights like a tent. And it was spreading. The sheet was frayed at the border and its outskirts reached out like tentacles into the grassy hills and the gnarled, deformed roots peeking out of the grass around the Gate without doubt belonged to the forest's plants.  
„Well, I do like what Evernight had become,“ Gnarl commented the view through the Shroud. „Makes me almost want to preserve it from being burned.“  
In between the green Orell saw some browns and yellows in a confined place. Squinting his eyes, he realized it was a village, right at the forest's border. This must be the elven settlement Gnarl had mentioned.   
The moment Orell stepped off the Netherworld Gate and into the grass, four Minion Gates dug their way out. The two Gates to his left immediately sank back into the ground again, but the Gates to his right unfolded and revealed their yellow and red lights, respectively. Orell cast a short glance at the village in the distance, contemplating if and how many Minions were appropriate for its visit. On one hand, he didn't want to appear threatening, on the other hand, he would prefer to save the extra time of walking back and getting them after speaking to the elves. In the end, he decided on taking fifteen Browns and five Reds with him. If his armour had gotten him confused with a paladin in Nordberg, having the creatures around him would hopefully dispel any connections to Aurenthuria's militant branch of the clergy. The Minions gathered around him, Canis on his wolf, which he somehow moved through the Minion Gates, at the front of the group.  
As Orell and the Minions went up the slope that led to the village, a figure left its gates and walked towards them. Orell recognized the figure as a female elf, dressed in subtly decorated, green and yellow clothes.  
„Welcome, stranger. I am Eres, the shaman's daughter. What is your business in Alrenvel?“ Close-by, Orell could see the village's envoy looked fairly different from the elves he was used to seeing in Aurenthuria. Her blond hair was woven in intricate braids, decorated with wooden pearls and her painted plaid was made from a leather-like material which was definitely not leather.   
„Pah, these elves embrace their doom with open arms! I wonder if they would greet bandits and hostile armies the same way,“ Gnarl sneered.  
Orell ignored him. „My business lies behind Alrenvel, in the Infected Forest. Something that belongs to me is there and I want to get it back.“  
Eres' shoulders sank. „So, you are like the others? We had enough trouble with the Sarul-Ras, the mushrooms and the toxic wildlife, even before they showed up. But you look different for sure.“  
Orell raised an eyebrow behind the helmet. „Like what others? Who else passes here?“  
„Armoured men. They mostly come to kill in the forest or to search something there, sometimes they also tell us to leave this place, because it is dangerous and spreading, they say. But we have lived with the forest for centuries, way before it had changed into what it is now. Whether we get swallowed by it or not doesn't matter any more.“  
Orell tensed up. The armoured men could only be the paladins. Were they infesting even this forest with their holiness and struggle against all evil out of all places? Did the parliament come to a faster decision this time for a change?  
„Sounds like our tin friends are roaming around here as well,“ Gnarl said. „We should hurry up finding the Green Minions, Sire, we don't want to have such a debacle like the one that nearly happened with the Reds.“  
„No, I am not allied with them. In fact, they are my mortal enemies.“ Orell pointed at the Minions trailing behind him. „I am looking for creatures that look like these, but of a green colour. Is your village familiar with such?“  
They passed the village's gates and entered a small settlement consisting of huts that were entirely made from plants. The used material was in a state of various freshness, from still green to rotten and sporting various mushrooms growing on it. Parts of the huts even appeared like the used plants were alive, molded into shape by the elves' innate magic. The people in between the huts resembled their homes in a way, dressed in clothes of rough fabric dyed in natural tones with sparing accents of red and orange, and the strange, leather-like material. Just as Orell wondered about which animal the hide would come from, he saw it being stripped off the source in front of a half-open hut: an elderly elf was skinning the cap of a pale tree fungus that was half as big as himself. The Minions didn't seem to feel comfortable in the village; they walked very close together with the largest Browns outside, eyeing every passing elf intently.  
„Some of our gatherers have told about creatures that would match the description,“ Eres finally replied. „Unfortunately, the few they had found were always dead, skewered by Sarul-Ras arrows. We don't know where the living ones hide.“  
„That was expected, out of all Minion tribes, Greens are the most sneaky ones. Well, they escaped right under our noses, as you know,“ Gnarl said. „But I do wonder what the wench means with the 'Sarul-Ras'. All that new stuff is giving me the hives.“  
Orell asked her. Eres cast a short glance at the close sheet of leaves towering over the village, which emanated a steady soundscape of singing birds. „The Sarul-Ras are elves that were once like us. They were swallowed by the forest and became like it themselves: savage and dangerous.“  
„Ooh, this gets better and better! Looks like my pleas were finally answered and the elves are turning into something that's actually likable,“ Gnarl commented. Orell was glad it was only him and the Minions who could hear the advisor.  
„And yet you are okay with it swallowing you as well?“ he skeptically asked Eres.  
„Evernight has always been our home, given to us by the Mother Goddess. As long as it thrives, we thrive and when it dies, we die. It had changed and we have to change with it to survive.“  
Orell didn't want to dwell on the elven philosophy further. While he was already familiar with it from the Everlightian elves which formed the majority of elves living in the Golden City, he had never imagined there were elves taking it to such extreme measures.  
„But even if the creatures your gatherers found were dead, could you at least tell me where they were found? It is at least a hint where to look for them.“  
Eres cocked her head. „The paths of the forest are entangled and shifting. Even with the best description from a gatherer I would not be able to give you a direction.“   
Orell felt disappointed and wanted to say goodbye to look in the forest for the Greens himself.  
„But I will give you a guide. Every time the armoured men come, I can feel malice radiating from them, growing stronger with every visit. I believe they are planning something. You said you are an enemy of them. It would be a pity if you would get lost in the forest to never return. Yerael!“  
A young, slender elf appeared in between the huts and headed to Eres. He had short, dark brown hair that stood off in all directions and wore several necklaces decorated with many different teeth, claws, scales, nuts, feathers and other plant and animal parts. His face was long, narrow and bore faint freckles.  
„This is Yerael, one of our gatherers, who did find one of your creatures once. Don't be deceived by his young age, he is one of the best, he knows the hidden paths and the forest's creatures.“  
„I greet you, stranger,“ the elf grinned at him. „But let me get my equipment first. It will not take long.“ He vanished between the huts as fast as he showed up.  
„Thank you for your help, Eres. This is an invaluable ally.“  
Eres gave him a faint smile. „Even if it's our fate to be swallowed by the forest, the forest itself has to prevail. I feel like you are one who will ensure it.“  
„Or instead, you burn it down yourself,“ Orell heard through the Shroud. Unfortunately, he couldn't reply to Gnarl's remarks without sounding like a madman talking to voices in his head, so he resorted to roll his eyes in the confines of the helmet's shadows.  
Yerael appeared again, this time with a light armour being made from something that looked like dried mushrooms and with a short bow slung over his shoulder. „I'm ready. Are you?“  
Orell gave the young elf a short nod and turned to the green wall that was the border of the Infected Forest. Like a small gash, there was a dark opening in the leaf sheet, surrounded by torches that emanated a penetrant smell. Very likely, herbs were added to them to keep away the creatures that lived beyond the gash. Coming closer to it, Orell noticed the birdsong emanating from the forest was sounding off. Many of the voices didn't even sound like birds at all.  
Yerael overtook Orell, shortly stopped at the leaf wall and then vanished in the shadows behind. A few seconds later, Orell reached the border of the forest as well and was swallowed by its darkness.


	9. Behind the Green Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, Orell walks through the Infected Forest, sees a lot of fun creatures, walks through the Infected Forest, gets annoyed at his advisor, walks through the Infected Forest, gets slimed on by slugs at night and finds the traces of the Green Minions. Have I mentioned he walks throught the Infected Forest yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one very unmotivated chapter that took forever to write. As always, critique is welcome.

Entering the Infected Forest was like entering another world. Despite it being a bright morning, it was nearly as dark as a full-moon night beyond the sheet of leaves. It was still lit well enough to show the forest's bizarre interior.  
While the appearance of the forest from the outside had already implied that the trees were no normal trees, they were now showing their true nature. Seemingly disregarding gravity and convention, the trunks snaked through the landscape, growing up, down, sideways and changing direction. Some low branches bore roots and some uncovered roots bore leaves. A few of the trunks were even moving, slowly pulsating while emanating a soft creaking sound. The smaller plants were no less strange, ranging in colour from near-black dark green over sickly pink to dull white and only few of them bore any resemblance to plants at all.  
There was also a surprising amount and diversity of fungi, a lot of them reaching impressive sizes. They grew virtually everywhere, ranging from several metres tall stalked mushrooms on the ground to glowing orbs on the trunks that were, together with the numerous fireflies hovering just above the underbrush, the primary light source beneath the thick sheet of leaves, providing an eerie, bluish-green illumination.  
The air was virtually ringing with sound, coming from all directions. The song of birds that occupied the outermost layers of the canopy mixed with the everpresent buzzing of insect wings and distant howls, shrieks and roars of larger creatures into a loud cacophony that nearly covered up the slight nausea caused by the penetrant smell of mould and rotting vegetation.  
Overally, it was a bone-crushing, hostile atmosphere.  
Yerael walked through this landscape on a hardly-visible path like it was the most natural thing to do, stepping over roots and bending under low trunks while softly humming a tune. His escorts, on the other hand, were very cautious on their way, only stepping where the elven guide stepped and expecting an ambush from every tree, every shadow. The Minions in particular were very wary, having their weapons drawn and being unusually silent, save for the almost constantly-growling wolf ridden by Canis. But not all Minions acted like this, to Orell's surprise, as several Browns and Reds were straying to the sides, poking the bizarre plants and glowing fungi with interest and picking up insects to eat.   
Orell himself was not terrible cozy in this environment, either. He tried to avoid touching any plants or fungi he went past, not trusting his armour in protecting him from any poisons or acids that could leak through. Even more he watched out for the many animals that were present. They were just as strange as the plants, seemingly consisting mostly of insects, centipedes and spiders, some of them reaching an impressive size. The most common creatures he saw were the cat-sized pillbugs dotting the tree trunks, each of them emanating a blue light from glowing patterns on their carapace. Since Yerael walked past them all without passing them a glance, Orell assumed they were not dangerous, but he had the creeping feeling this would change when they would reach the deeper parts of the Infected Forest.  
But despite the Minions' alertness, the travel was mostly uneventful. Walking for what felt like hours, without a sun to tell the passing of time, they encountered little of actual interest in this unusual landscape. Once they crossed their way with something Orell assumed first to be a huge, reddish-brown snake, crawling over the path with neither the head nor the tail being visible anywhere in the undergrowth. Taking a closer look, he realized it was rather an earthworm-like creature, contracting and expanding, with rows of stubbly, bristly appendages wiggling on its sides. Yerael generously stepped over the worm's body and Orell gestured the Minions to do the same, discouraging any attempts at picking a fight. He didn't know what such a creature could do and Gnarl didn't have any knowledge of this environment and its inhabitants, either. Another time one of the overly-curious Minions decided to touch a plant that resembled a tentacled barrel, which resulted in the tentacles suddenly coming to life and attempting to wrap the Minion's arm. The Minion was quick-witted enough to react to the sudden assault with hacking at the tentacles and freeing himself, before more tentacles could grab and pull him towards the toothed maw that revealed itself in between the crown of tentacles. Said Minion stopped wandering around and poking things from then on, staying by the others instead.  
More time passed without any further incidents and the terrain began subtly to change. Orell noticed more and more overgrown rocks poking out in between the deformed trunks and their path became more convoluted, as they had to walk around rock formations or avoid cracks in the ground. The subtle path in the undergrowth had vanished by now and they were treading over the multicoloured mushrooms, moss cushions, twitching roots and barely-covered bones in between.  
A pidgeon-sized, hairy creature buzzed past Orell's face, into the direction of a wondrous flower which reminded him of an open carcass, poking out of the underbrush. When the hairy creature, which turned out to be a kind of bee devoid of a carapace, landed on the flower, it snapped shut and revealed the head of a lizard, on an impossibly-thin neck that sat on a bloated, camouflaged body. The bright red wattles that simulated the flower were sticking out of the lizard's mouth corners as it chewed on its meal.   
„Hm, looks like the magical gloop can do more than just turning everything into raging monstrosities,“ Gnarl spoke up after his silence for the entire travel through the forest so far. „But I do wonder what kinds of colour their lifeforce has. Don't you want to take a look yourself, Sire?“  
Knowing what Gnarl was hinting at, Orell declined the notion. „We have no time for that. You said yourself we should hurry because paladins are here and I don't think our guide will wait for us to stray off to clobber pillbugs, either.“  
„Whom are you talking to?“ Yerael turned to look at him, still walking.  
Orell had forgotten he and his Minions were the only ones to hear the transmission of the Shroud. He didn't see any sense in making up stories about his sudden monologue, he could tell the truth just as well.  
„My advisor, we communicate through a magical link.“  
„Magic...“ for a moment the elf's eyes got a glassy look. „That's nice. Most of the magic we have here is either too weak to do a lot with it or it's too dangerous.“  
Half a minute of awkward silence later, Yerael picked the topic up again. „And your magic, what can it do?“  
„Unfortunately, it can't shut him up,“ Gnarl said.  
„A lot, most of it I don't know myself. The place I'm living at has teleportation and floating boulders.“  
Yerael's face lightened up for a moment. „They say floating boulders are also found in the World Scar, far to the east. Do you come from there? And the creatures of yours, too?“  
„No, I think not. The place I come from is Nordberg and where my creatures are coming from, that's something I don't know. But that World Scar, what else are they saying about it?“ He knew the elf was referring to the Grim Wastelands and a better knowledge of this storied location wouldn't hurt.  
„Hmm... glowing slime that deforms and drives everything insane that comes in contact with it. Giant slugs that will eat everything that comes from the outside. Men made from metal drawing strength from the slime. And some will even say that deep in the Scar, there are the ruins of an ancient building, said to be from a previous era, guarded by a living mountain.“  
„Yes, yes, and there are also flesh-eating sheep, plants that look like something you will find in a medical book detailing diseases of the reproductive system and a lot of villages full of exiles that sporadically turn into villages full of murderous mutants,“ Gnarl groaned. „I can tell you all of it when you return, Sire, I have _been_ there.“  
Orell ignored his advisor's suggestion. „What about the inhabitants of that place, do they come into the forest, too?“  
„No, certainly not as far as I ever was in it. The other villages closer to the World Scar say the insane creatures are eaten by the wildlife when they enter the Forest.“   
At least one problem less to deal with.   
„But back to magic, can you use it yourself?“  
„Yes.“   
Yerael turned around again, his face being ecstatic. „What can you do? Set fire to enemies? Turn them into frogs? Or do you grow plants? Can you show?“  
„Sire, please make him stop! The more I listen to this elf, the more I want to jump into the portal and strangle him myself!“  
„I can make myself look like someone else. And no, I can't show, as magic requires energy and I already need that for the travel.“  
„If you are tired, we can rest.“ Yerael pointed ahead, at a thick trunk snaking over a mossy rock outcrop. The trunk was dotted with large, pear-shaped fruit that had a faint blue glow. „Right there, these are edible.“  
Orell looked at the fruit skeptically. The glow didn't look very appealing to him. But at least he wasn't required to eat them, as he could summon a Minion Gate, even if it meant to have to eat mutton again.  
He took his eyes off the strange fruit to face Yerael. „Maybe I can show some magic, after all,“ he said to the guide. Then he turned his head to the side to speak through the Shroud. „Gnarl, can you send a Gate and have some food prepared? Those glowing fruit look too suspicious to me.“  
„Of course, Sire. I wouldn't trust these things, either. Grime!“  
There was shouting at a Minion heard, then a pause, followed by more shouting. Gnarl soon joined in, startling Orell with it. „What do you mean, the energy flows disrupt the Gates' magic!?“ More shouting in the background. „Then get it to work, you lazy troll-arse furuncle! Excuse me, Sire, but the diggers are facing a problem. The ground's energy flows seem to have been... influenced by the Cataclysm and merged with the innate magic of Evernight, somehow they have jammed the Gates. The diggers are doing their best to activate them again, but it will take some time. How embarrassing, usually they should work smoothly. Hold on, Sire, it should get back to work in an instant!“  
After waiting for countless 'instants' in a timespan of several minutes, Orell gave up. The Minions had wandered off again to collect food, but stayed far closer to him than they did in Nordberg, still not trusting the forest's inhabitants. They were picking out insects from the rocks' crevices or off the leaves, some were trying a hand at catching the fireflies. Canis was presenting one of the glowing pillbugs to his wolf, who sniffed it but then turned away. Yerael was already happily munching on one of the glowing fruit. Interestingly, some of the Minions have followed suit and were eating the strange fruit, too, some tentatively, others scarfing them down with a few bites.  
„Well, looks like the magical trick show is cancelled“, Orell said with his arms spread out in frustration. „They ran into problems on the other side.“  
He took a closer look at the fruit hanging on the jagged bark overgrown with fungal mass. The blue skin had a mottled pattern and small midges were flying around it. They fled when Orell touched the fruit with his gauntleted hand, still hesitating. A pair of red hands quickly grabbed a fruit to the left and plucked it off the the trunk. Orell watched the Minion devour it in a few seconds, then give him a wide-eyed grin with lots of small black seeds stuck between the teeth, as if telling him the fruit are fine.  
„Sire, I might remind you that Minions eat all kind of things you wouldn't even dare to touch. I don't want to risk you to undergo any unwanted changes“, Gnarl told him, as if he was reading his thoughts.  
„But Yerael is not a Minion.“  
„Yes, Master, but he is an _elf_. And I would hardly consider anything an _elf_ eats to be palatable.“   
„If I were to wait, I would probably starve to death before your Gate problem is fixed. And now excuse me,“ Orell said, not paying attention to Gnarl's further protests when he took his helmet off.  
  
The fruit had turned out to be actually quite pleasant. Orell ordered the Minions to take a few of these with them when Yerael requested them to continue the travel. They left the rocky area soon and began to descend a slope. The forest somehow managed to get even denser and the species composition of the glowing fungi slowly changed, with violet light beginning to dominate. Strange centipede-like creatures of the size of rats scurried between their feet, illuminating the ground with their constantly-shifting light patterns. The distant sounds of large creatures were not-so-distant-sounding any more and the Minions, which had gradually relaxed over the course of the travel, tensed up again, stepping carefully and looking everywhere.  
Yerael, who was crooning again while walking, suddenly stopped and became silent. He reached for a round, glowing fungus, broke it off and knelt down to look at something. Orell told the Minions to stay where they were, walked over to Yerael to cast a glance over his shoulder. Just as he was about to take a look at what the elven guide was examining, Yerael turned his head with a worried expression.  
„Human traces,“ he said.  
Orell was surprised by the findings. He would have expected the traces of one of the larger creatures living in the forest, maybe even the remains of an elf Yerael knew, but living people so far in the Infected Forest?  
„Are you sure they are not from the Sarul-Ras?“  
Yerael shook his head. „Sarul-Ras don't wear shoes.“  
This made Orell frown. Eres did mention paladins to rummage in the Infected Forest for lost artefacts and 'evil' creatures to kill. What if they ran into them in the most improper of situations? The forest's structure would make a planned ambush very easy and fighting in such a tight environment would be dangerous, even if the Minions would have an advantage due to their small size. While it would be unlikely that paladins would use such nefarious tactics or even know about his presence in the forest, Orell didn't want to take any risks.  
„How many people were passing here?“  
„Not many, at least five, not more than twenty.“ Yerael slung the bow from his shoulder. „I don't trust them. Do you mind a little diversion? We need to find out where they went, I don't want to run into them by accident.“  
„That would have been the thing I would have suggested, too,“ Orell said, still looking at the traces. Then he faced the cluster of Minions behind him. „And you lot, look out for anything that could have come from paladins.“  
While several Reds and Browns were nodding vigorously and giggled affirmatively, it was the short, subtle nod of Canis what settled the command for Orell. His wolf would be an enormous help in following the tracks.   
  
Orell became doubtful of the cause of the tracks being a group of paladins after they had followed the trail through the underbrush for a few minutes. Employing Canis' wolf was almost unnecessary, as the tracks were clearly visible as impressions in the spongy moss with trampled mushrooms inside. Whoever had caused them, they were not caring about being inconspicious. Yerael, who was leading the group, appeared to be doubtful of the tracks' source coming from Aurenthuria's holy warriors.  
„It's like children were running through the forest,“ he remarked quietly.  
„Even if, nobody expects us to be here,“ Orell replied. „Paladins aren't known to be concealing of their presence, they rather expect their enemy to be intimidated.“  
„It's not that the trail is so easy to follow,“ Yerael continued. Then he stopped, looking at Orell. „Why paladins? Do paladins walk in serpentines?“  
Orell now stopped as well. „Drunk paladins do. And paladins that took a mace against their helmet.“ He took a closer look at the trail in front of him, but couldn't make out anything unusual in it. These were not trails from paladins, if Yerael was right, as they made a big deal of walking in straight lines, particularly in larger groups. But who else would stumble around in a dangerous forest like a drunk?  
„If they are no paladins, who else could that be?“  
Yerael scratched his chin before answering. „Smugglers, hunters and other idiots. Which means, they either got already eaten or they are capable to survive here and therefore are just as dangerous as the creatures themselves. If they are drunk in the forest, they are likely the former.“  
„Then, we will leave these tracks and continue searching for my creatures?“  
„No. We can't leave our guard down. Either we follow the trail until we find the place they were killed or we risk getting our throats slit by them at night.“  
Orell just shrugged, he was not the one who knew how the forest worked.  
  
Yerael walked on, more cautious than before. Orell let Canis and his mount pass, before he set himself into motion as well. The marauder's wolf had its ears flat against its head and its teeth bared, all the time since it sniffed the tracks for the first time. Its rider's face expression was similarly sour. Orell wished the wolf handler would talk; on the question of what was bothering him and his mount about the tracks, he only got a drawn-out hiss as an answer. He had the suspicion there was more behind the tracks than he could see, but he would have to trust his elven guide in this regard, since he was the one skilled in tracking.   
Since Orell neither had the nose of Canis' wolf nor the keen eyes and tracking knowledge of Yerael, he tried to listen. He did believe to hear human voices in between the birdsong in the canopy above or the chirping of insects below, but it could very well be a misperception. The few Minions walking ahead of him had both their ears and their heads constantly turning, yet none of them seemed to hear anything extraordinary.  
They crossed a small creek, with the trails fortunately continuing directly on the opposite bank. There were only two times where following them was hard; once they led through the relatively open space of an old stone building's remains which mysteriously was not overgrown with moss and fungi, another time the trails were covered by the track of something else, much larger, that had cut an aisle through the undergrowth. Seeing the terrified faces of the Minions staring at the churned earth and the flattened plants, the elf told them it was a harmless fungus eater that had caused the trail. It didn't stifle the creatures' fear much. Then, a sudden, gradually increasing hissing coming from all directions made the Minions draw their weapons and frantically look around for the source. They almost looked embarrassed when Yerael told them it was just rain pouring on the upper sheet of leaves, with not a single drop being able to actually fall through it.  
Orell wasn't sure how long they were following the track, avoiding stepping on the glowing centipedes and calling overly-curious Minions back that wanted to take a closer look at dangerous-looking plants, until Yerael stopped again, pointing at something ahead in the underbrush of a slightly more open area. His finger directed Orell's gaze at something that could best be described as a mess.  
Taking a closer look at it, he recognized the mess as a carcass.  
It was an unidentifiable creature, seemingly a mixture of rat, dog, sheep, lizard and mayfly, torn open and covered in a thick layer of faintly glowing mucus. As he looked at the mucus strands, wondering what kind of creature might have caused it, he noticed the tracks around the carcass, visible in the slime's glow. Rather than forming a clean track around the corpse and the slime or leading straight through it, if the tracks had been older than the kill, they were all over each other, encircling the dead creature, as if...  
„Those are definitely not paladins,“ Orell heard. He noticed Yerael's voice was trembling and when he looked at him, he couldn't help seeing the elf's face having become pale, despite it more likely being an effect of the unnaturally-coloured light of the forest.  
„What are they then?“ he shouted at him, agitated. Suddenly, the Minions started shouting and scattering, assuming fighting positions.  
The answer to Orell's question shambled out of the undergrowth from all directions.  
They were once human, dressed in clothes that looked all too familiar, even if they were now rotten and interwoven with glowing mould. They must have been a part of the hunting expedition lost in the forest, and the forest had made them its own.  
They were stumbling about like drunks and moved erratically, as their tracks had already shown, but what frightened Orell the most about the creatures that were once men were their heads. They were open and would have normally exposed their brains, except the space was now occupied by a fat, slimy and pulsating structure of a faint blue colour. The Minions, which have been on the edge all the time already, immediately attacked the lumbering men, hacking at their legs and pelting them with burning fluid.   
„Master, the parasites! Aim for the parasites in their heads!“  
Shaking off the stupor from the surprise, Orell drew his sword and forwarded Gnarl's shouting to the Minions in the form of a mental command, in case they didn't hear it from Gnarl due to being distracted by fighting off the sudden attack.  
One of the parasitized men stumbled into Orell's direction, face distorted in a silent scream with the mouth being further open than he would have thought to be possible. Just as the man raised his arm to strike and Orell did the same with his sword to block off the swipe, an arrow flew past him, hitting right into the fluorescent mass in the skull. The man began to cramp up, shaking and twisting grotesquely and the mass in his head contracted, spraying glowing slime out of the wound which stained Orell's helmet and breastplate. The moment he fell to the ground, the dying, twitching parasite rolled out of his open skull and revealed itself to be a bloated slug, attached to the man's head by a root coming from a hole in its side. Orell gave it a short look of disgust, then went for the nearest foe, which was going after the cluster of Reds that threw their fire at anything shambling towards them.  
The moving husk didn't see him coming and Orell managed to hack the head together with its parasite off cleanly. One of the Reds, now alerted to its presence, flung a fireball at the head that was tumbling towards him, the creature's face bearing a nauseated grimace.  
Further fighting wasn't required for Orell; the Browns could topple the lumbering hosts over easily to rip the parasites out of their skulls. Some of the Minions had great fun in smashing the fat slugs into a blue, glowing pulp. The guide fired one arrow after another, each hitting the parasites directly. His last arrow felled a husk that had grabbed a Red with a steel-like grip, releasing the panicking Minion. As Orell broke a spongy fungal body off a nearby pulsating trunk to use it for cleaning his sword, he caught sight of Yerael, who pulled an arrow out of a slug.  
„I had never expected these to go so far south,“ the elf said while he eyed the stained arrowhead.  
„The hunting party, or whatever was controlling them?“   
„You knew about the men? How?“  
Orell watched a Red pluck a charred slug out of its host and eat its slimy body. „A friend told me about them. Supposedly, they accompanied an important man from the Aurenthurian Empire and his father is now very angry.“ After he said that, he took a closer look at the corpses. Most of them seemed to have been servants, a few were hunters or even bodyguards, but none of them wore an attire that would have identified them as the Count's son himself.  
Yerael slung the bow back over his shoulder. „Does that mean, more will come?“  
„Likely. The parliament supposedly holds him off, but I can't say how long they will be able to.“ Orell called the Minions back to his side; more of them were starting show interest in the parasites and he wasn't sure what effects they would have on Minions. At least all of them had survived and only a few had minor injuries from the fight.   
He broke off another fungus and then took his helmet off to wipe the slime away. „One question, how do these slugs infect their hosts?“  
Yerael gave him a last look before continuing on the way. „They gnaw the skull of a fresh corpse open, eat the brain and then take control of the rest. Why are you making such a face? As long as you are alive, you don't have to fear anything from them.“  
  
After Yerael had spent some time to backtrack, orient himself and return to the original course, it went on faster again. Aside from a few times where the guide ordered them to be quiet, with an arrow on the bowstring, intently listening to something moving and grunting in the distance until it went away, there were no intermissions with dangerous forest creatures any more. Orell started to find this strange, as he would have expected the Infected Forest to be far more dangerous, judging by the horror stories he had heard in Aurenthuria about it. Most likely, it was Yerael's doing; he was just that good in finding secure paths in a place full of dangers.  
Soon, it went upwards again and they were back in the rocky area, which Orell was grateful for. In the perpetual, mushroom-illuminated twilight of this forest, this had been the lightest area so far and he was ready to put up with the uneven terrain and requirement for small detours to have more light. And he found the pillbugs on the trees slightly less unnerving than the scuttling centipedes.  
He noticed that Yerael wasn't following an unseen path any more, but looking here and there, as if he was searching for something. Maybe he wanted to have a food break? Orell didn't bother to ask.  
About fifteen minutes of the mysterious search, Yerael stopped. Before him were the colossal remains of a fallen ancient tree, possibly even coming from the time where the forest was not mutated. Underneath the massive, tangled roots was a small cave, weakly illuminated by the fungi growing inside.  
„We will rest for the night here,“ the elf said.  
„Lazy treehugger,“ Gnarl chimed in, „it's hardly evening yet.“  
For the first time since they had entered the forest, Orell agreed with his advisor's snide remarks, at least in a small part. „It is pretty early, we could still cover some ground in the time before nightfall.“  
„Too dangerous,“ was the answer. „The creatures that come out at night are far worse than the corpse-controlling slugs. Staying in that cave over the night is the only way to make it until tomorrow.“ Yerael picked up a stick, carefully poking into the opening.  
„We will enter Sarul-Ras territory soon, there is no point in going on further.“ Yerael continued. He jumped back when his probing scared out several flying creatures that screeched in anger when they fled, then decided the root cave was safe and climbed inside. Spending the night in that hole together with an elf, a wolf and a horde of Minions wasn't something Orell wanted to try out in the near future.  
„Gnarl, how is the Tower Gate getting along?“  
There was some rustling and swearing at the other end of the connection. „Unfortunately, the Gates are still not functional, thanks to the blasted energy flows around here. I have ordered Grubby and Grime to modify the Gates to withstand the flows, but that will take a week at least. Master, your best chance to get out of the forest or to replace any dead Minions is to find an area with stable flows. I think such areas might be those with elven ruins on them. As useless as these prancing bunnyhumpers are, their magical affinity and its influence on their creations might have stabilized the energy flows around their buildings.“  
Orell remembered to have passed a ruin which was oddly devoid of the mutated plants that formed the forest. Unfortunately, the ruin was far away by now and his advisor didn't even say a thing back then. He looked at the root cave again.   
„Sire, you will have to deal with that with pride. I really can't help you this time.“  
Yerael had vanished in the cave by now and a few Minions had followed him inside, but the majority of them were standing around the entrance or on the lower roots with drooping ears, waiting for their master's decision. It almost appeared they were not thrilled about the root cave, either.  
„No Gates can be sent,“ Orell told the surrounding Minions. „Go inside or get yourself something to eat first, but stay by the root cave's entrance.“   
Somehow, they managed to get their ears to droop even more when they heard the news. Orell chose to ignore their sad faces, as he couldn't do anything about the situation himself, and it wasn't pleasing to him, either. The small midges that filled the air and constantly got inside his armour were already annoying, he didn't even want to know how the mosquitos and ticks in this forest were like.   
His eyes adapted pretty quickly to the darkness of the root cave, as it was hardly darker than the outside. The interior wasn't large, but still sizeable and could hold the entire Minion horde Orell had with him, with everyone still having enough space around themselves. The ground was relatively dry, consisting of a mixture of pulverized wood from the fallen tree, dry leaves, insect carapaces and humus. The walls were part dark earth, part fungus-covered interior of the fallen tree, and there were round tunnels extending deeper down. They were the hollowed-out roots that still remained inside the earth. Looking at the dark holes, Orell wondered if these were occupied by creatures that could crawl out at night or even connect the root cave to a larger cavernous system deep below, which would only increase the potential for dangerous creatures emerging through them.   
Just as he thought about it, a Brown clambered out of the hole he was looking at and shouted :„All clear!“  
„Good work!“ Yerael answered the Minion, who made a mock-salute.   
Orell just stared. Did the Minions scour the hollow roots for the elven guide? According to the things he heard over the Shroud, Gnarl was just as surprised, but far less contained about it.  
„Did this... daisy-molesting snailbrain just _order your Minions around_!? This audacity! Sire, teach him some manners! And you, Raglam, will wish you never crawled out of the rancid pustules of your Hive _when I get my hands on you_!“  
Orell took his helmet off to get Gnarl's enraged shrieking out of his ears, but it didn't diminish his surprise at the situation.   
„And they just went into the holes without much protest?“ he asked Yerael after seeing another Brown coming out of one of the hollow roots.  
Yerael just shrugged. „Why should they? They were already looking at the holes and then I just nicely asked.“  
For such supposedly loyal creatures the Minions were surprisingly eager to follow Yerael. Either the elf had a natural talent at making the Minions do what he wanted or Orell's leading skills were so insufficient they were willing to follow others for a change.   
Or Orell was interpreting too much into this and they simply saw Yerael as an ally, similar to the non-Minion inhabitants of the Tower. He decided not to dwell longer on this situation.   
Time passed, and one by one, the Minions that had decided to collect food first, went into the root cave, most of them having a glowing pillbug or a handful of smaller insects with them. After a dinner consisting of the blue fruits the Minions had carried, Orell took off his armour and busied himself with removing the dirt from the crevices and checking them for small animals that might have gotten in.  
Yerael was sitting at the entrance, taking care of his bowstring and checking the arrows. He suddenly moved aside, when two Browns and a Red dragged a pale, worm-like animal inside, with a fourth Minion carrying a glowing, grass-green orb towards him. They threw the carcass next to Orell's feet and immediately began dismembering it with their weapons and bare claws, shoving the entrails into their mouths as soon as they had pulled them free. Orell disgustedly looked at the dead creature's head lying next to his feet with its forearm-long tongue hanging out and its six bulbous eyes staring at the ceiling, then discreetly moved himself and the armour pieces away, both to get away from the grisly scene as well as to prevent the entrails from dirtying his armour. This also brought him closer to Yerael.  
„You mentioned we will enter Sarul-Ras territory tomorrow,“ he engaged the elf in a conversation. „What exactly will await us?“  
Yerael looked up from his applying of an oily substance to the bowstring. „First, we get further into the Broken Barrow. The Sarul-Ras territory begins behind the Bone Gorge, which we will cross.“ He took a short look out of the root cave's opening. „That is where the real forest starts. We will have to move quickly and silently there, and leave it as soon as possible. The place where your creature's bones lie is just outside of their territory. From there, we will have to search for traces.“  
„Are there any elven ruins on the way? I might have to replace Minions if we run into the Sarul-Ras and I have been told it would be possible next to a ruin.“  
Yerael returned to tending to his bow. He answered after a pause, seemingly thinking the route through. „Not in the Broken Barrow. There is the ruin of Mighil-Nes inwards of the place with the bones.“ He shortly frowned. „But that is inside Sarul-Ras territory.“  
Orell didn't like this information. It not only meant he had to cross the territory of the wild elves not only once, but twice before he had the chance to even try to summon a Gate. One of the Reds sat down next to him, accompanied by a Brown. The latter looked at Orell with big eyes, tentatively picking up the cloth that was used to clean the armour pieces. After wondering for a moment what he wanted, Orell handed him a greave, which the Minion started scrubbing enthusiastically. He would have to be extra careful to prevent any unnecessary deaths within the horde if he wanted to reach the ruin to replace any Minions.   
„What are the best ways to avoid the Sarul-Ras? It would be better if I knew this sooner than later, to be able to prepare for it before entering their territory.“  
Another pause before an answer. „Be quiet and don't spook the animals. Don't leave traces and stay out of open places. But most importantly, do avoid their trails.“  
Orell glanced at the group of Minions which were still noisily devouring the worm-like creature. „That is going to be a terribly easy task with those. Can you give me any more concrete tips with keeping my Minions out of their sight?“  
Yerael grinned. „It's actually very easy. Listen ahead and look at the ground, avoid stepping on sticks or on dry leaf piles. Stop regularly and look around. That one with the wolf can inform you about smells, he seems to have a very close connection to his animal.“ Canis, who sat with his wolf at the other end of the root cave, both eating a large chunk of the worm he fought off the other Minions, stared over to Yerael and snorted. „Pay attention to the birds, they will often get silent when something large passes by. And pay attention to the warning calls of _seliet_ , they are the best sign of Sarul-Ras being close.“  
„ _Seliet_?“  
Rather than explaining, Yerael put his fingers to his mouth and let out a whistle that gradually went over into a shriek. Orell could hear the flapping of winged creatures move away from the trees in the proximity of the root cave.  
„And if I were you, I would cover your armour with mulch. Its shine is too eye-catching.“  
Both Orell and the helpful Brown were glaring at the elf.   
„Sorry, I could have told that earlier.“ Yerael went back to tending to his bow and then rolled up his trouser legs, apparently checking for ticks and other parasites in the awkward silence that was interrupted by the eating Minions.  
In the end, it was him who broke the silence again. „The creatures you are searching for... what are they like?“  
„Mostly like the ones you see following me. Except green and covered in spines. They smell like rat carcasses and can turn invisible.“  
Yerael's face lit up. „Invisibility? They are some kind of wizards?“  
Orell was about to roll his eyes. What was it with Yerael and his obsession with magic? He didn't want to imagine what would happen if he were to use his shadow magic for disguise in front of the elf.  
„I'm not sure how it works...“ Orell briefly contemplated putting the helmet on and ask Gnarl about the workings of Minions, but with how the conversation with Yerael went, his advisor would rather have a rage-induced verbal seizure than being of any help at all. „But I have not seen them use any other magic yet. It could be like the fire of the red ones.“  
„I do remember their fire! I have never seen such fire before, it just flew through the air and stuck to everything it touched,“ the elf said with a grin. Then he focused on the Red next to Orell. „You, can you tell me more about your fire?“  
The Minion first didn't realize it was him being asked, but then his ears dropped, he looked around with an expression of slight panic, in the hope it was someone else being addressed. When he understood Yerael was referring to him, he just blurted out: „M-me?“  
When Yerael nodded affirmatively, the Red began to cough and stutter an answer. „It, it just happens. I-I...“ he swallowed. „I spit it out and it there. And then it burns.“  
„How does it burn, but not damage your hand?“  
„Eh, we Reds no harmed by fire.“ One of the other Reds belched loudly in the background, as if affirming the statement.  
„And how does the fire feel in your hands?“  
„It tickles.“ The Red's expression changed from panic to a weak grin. „Like crawling roachies, but softer.“  
„That is very interesting. Can you do more aside from casting fire? Oh, how rude of me, what's your name?“  
„Me is Rust.“   
Orell listened on in bewilderment as the Red and the elf had a conversation about the Minion's life history, consisting of everyday life in the volcano, the battle against the paladins and the new life in the Netherworld. This talk was shortly interrupted by the belching Red Minion who now ran out to the root cave's entrance and noisily threw up outside. Looking at the pieces of paladin armour he was wearing, he could be recognized as the very Minion that ate one of the parasitic slugs before. Apparently, they were as inedible as they were disgusting.  
Soon after, Yerael managed to engage the Brown in the conversation as well and Orell learned a lot of interesting things about the time between the old Overlord's reign and his own arrival, mostly consisting of the type of raiders that went into the abandoned Netherworld, but also of the multitude of ways of how to prepare a rat.   
And then it was his own turn to tell his story.  
„I can fully understand why you are going to do this,“ Yerael said with a face more serious than usual after Orell was done. „When we return, would you agree with me informing the other elven settlements? We would be willing to help, as until now, the empire was only trouble for us.“  
Orell scratched his neck. „I'm not sure. For once, it would be nice to have allies on my side, but on the other hand, if one of you gets captured and tried, they could reveal too much about me and my plans. I am a wanted man there already, and at this point, I am still weak, I need all time I can get.“  
Yerael pursed his lips. „Well, maybe we will find a solution for this later.“ Suddenly, a loud roar was heard outside, echoing from the distance. All Minions had their eyes on the cave's entrance, some grabbing their weapons, others backing away further.  
„But let us rest for now,“ the elf added quietly. „The less sounds we make during the night, the less unwanted attention we will get.“  
  
In the doubtful security of darkness, a cloaked figure hastened down the Golden City's streets. The street lights of the more noble districts were left behind and only the decrescent moon now provided a light source for the figure, who looked around, as if making sure nobody followed them.  
Having had enough of the bantering in the Parliament, high priest Sayael decided to take the matters into his own hands. With its current composition, there was simply no way in convincing them. He could count himself lucky the farmers, gnomes, and with Morning Wood, the Reformists were behind him, but as long as that tree-hugging geezer Alderius blocked off every attempt while the traders and craftsmen preferred the sin of greed over piety, it would go nowhere. Sayael was disappointed with the dwarven delegate; listening around between the other priests, he knew the few dwarves that converted to Punarim were in favour of purging the Infected Forest, be it even just for the treasures of the soil, but the blasted Tinhammer dynasty had taken root in the parliament for the honour of being among the heroes responsible for slaying the Devil Emperor and Thergad was the worst of all delegates, for he never cared about anything. His only hope was to pray for Elena falling prey to the usual nobility intrigues and the next noble delegate to be more of his tastes.  
But hope was one thing while acting was another. And without the parliament being able to turn up a favourable outcome in the near time, Sayael had to do it behind the government's back, together with the only person he could really rely on, the one person for whom the destruction of the forest was most dear to his heart.   
The high priest rushed around a corner and through a tight alley of the lower living district. He stopped at the door of a small house with the windows nailed shut. With a last look to his sides, satisfied to see no one, he opened the door and slipped inside.  
The abandoned house was far from abandoned. In the light of a candle, Sayael could make out numerous barrels and sacs filling up the entire right wall, while the rest of the interior was reserved for a wooden table and some chairs. On one of these chairs, Count Doran was sitting.  
All in all, Count Doran was an unpleasant man. The permanent scowl he bore on his face was only sharpened by his greasy, black hair and artistically trimmed beard, the bushy eyebrows and hooked nose. He wore simple yet elegant clothes in red and dark brown, his city's banner colours.  
„High priest, good that you arrive.“ Even his voice was scowling, regardless of what he said. „Did nobody follow you?“  
„I haven't seen people on the streets, everyone is sleeping the sleep of the righteous.“  
Count Doran folded his fingers. „Then, let's get down to business. I guess that neither your convincing nor my generous offers did anything to sway the delegates, else you wouldn't have mailed me.“  
Sayael pulled a chair from under the table and slumped down on it with a groan. „Indeed. As long as the others keep seeing virtues in that place, they will always be against its purging.“  
„How can anyone see anything virtuous in the forest that killed my son?“ Doran's jaw muscles tensed up.  
„Thanks to the loudmouthed craftsman, the trader and the halfling decided to protect the forest for its wood. Of course they will not care about the souls lost to that wretched place. I'm going to inform the Fist of Punarim to send a few stars of paladins that will evict the resident elves.“  
In an impossible feat, the scowl on Count Doran's face got more intense. „These resident elves are as bad as the Infected Forest itself. Not a single one of them did anything against the invisible snakes, for they must be allies. Ridding the world of the Infected Forest along with its elves will be the right thing to do in Punarim's eyes.“  
The high priest gave the count a long, hard look. „Punarim never agreed on killing civilians. If the elves would actually have raised their weapons against your son, I would have sanctioned purging them along with the forest in a heartbeat. But living in the same place your son died while being unaware of his death is not a crime, you know that very well, Doran.“  
The count didn't say anything, he just scowled back.  
„I'm having the paladins set out tomorrow, to start with the evictions as soon as possible,“ Sayael continued. „And I will order them to tell me when they see any of your men close to the forest, because the parliament would be very suspicious of the forest suddenly burning down, right at the time its existence is discussed.“  
Count Doran's scowl reached new levels, before falling to its usual state. „Fine. I will donate the slush fees rejected by the druids to the temple, make sure they reach the right people to eradicate this forest as soon as possible.“  
  
The next morning was heralded by a scream.   
It was the feeling of something wet and rough scrubbing over Orell's hand that awoke him, and his surprised yell that woke up the others. What followed was a short panic of Orell and the Minions flinging the uninvited visitors off themselves and out of the cave's entrance.  
At night, a lot of pearly-white, arm-long slugs had entered the root cave and were crawling all over everybody. The memories of the similar-looking, parasitic molluscs that controlled corpses were too fresh. Yerael, meanwhile, was having a laughing fit.  
„I'm sorry,“ he said when he caught his breath again. „I forgot to warn you of the litter ghosts. They are absolutely harmless, just...“ He broke out in laughter again, when one of the terrified Browns attempted to carry a slug, but it constantly slipped out of his hands.   
„Is there anything else you forgot to tell us?“ Orell disgruntedly asked the guide while scrubbing the slime off his arm.  
„No,“ Yerael said breathlessly. „Or not yet, at least.“ All of a sudden, he was serious again. „We should get moving as soon as possible, mornings are the best time to enter Sarul-Ras territory and survive.“  
  
They were on their way soon after. This time, the rocks began to dominate the scenery more and more. Most of them looked like normal slate, almost entirely covered by moss and fungi, but still showing its striation and dark grey colour, but some where changed, deformed, mutated. They were outright spiky, resembling native silver more than rock and had a dark blue-violet colour.  
„Eugh, here we have the reason for the disturbed energy flows.“ Gnarl said. „Mandelite ore. On the good side, Sire, we at least now have a hint in how to make the Gates work. And the sooner you can get out of the Forest for the night, the better.“  
While Gnarl's tone sounded like he was referring to the presence of Yerael, Orell would be quite happy to not spend any more nights covered in slugs. „Good, how long will it take to send a functioning Gate?“  
Gnarl forwarded the question to another Minion, in a far more rude manner. A few minutes later, he got the answer. „Approximately three days if everything goes smooth“.  
So much for no nights spent being covered in slugs.  
„I'm really sorry, Sire, that you have to put up with the slugs and without proper food for more time. Or with that creepy elf, ech.“  
„Gnarl, I think me taking off the helmet yesterday evening should already have given you the hint. I'm not interested in hearing your rants about that matter. Just keep your thoughts to yourself and come to the point... by the Abyss Serpent.“  
Yerael had stopped at the end of the slope they were ascending. Behind the slope, the ground opened into nothing, continuing about thirty metres away again. The chasm was pitch black in the already faint light of the forest, but the rushing of water, accompanied by the cry of invisible animals and distorted by the rocks, told about what was lying below. The strange trees that grew without any real direction clung to the borders of the chasm, digging their roots into any crack they could find, and spanned the distance above by tangling into each other, denying the access of sunlight even here.  
They had reached the Bone Gorge, the last part of the Infected Forest where they were not risking to run into the Sarul-Ras.  
The Minions seemed to be as taken aback as Orell, but showed it more openly. While he stood at the edge and wondered how deep it went down, a rock became loose and plummeted into the depth. It thudded against something soft, which flared up in green light in a response, revealing itself as a huge mushroom cap. The light spread over a network of strands in waves, activating other caps growing on the chasm's walls, until the entire Bone Gorge was illuminated, giving the Minions a lightshow to marvel and Orell the answer to his question.  
„And we are supposed to climb through this?“ he asked. Several long creatures, glowing in the same green light, flew up in a panic from in between the fungi, frantically flapping with their five pairs of small wings.  
„I wouldn't recommend it. There is a bridge over there.“ Yerael pointed at a structure to the right, visible behind a turn the Bone Gorge took in its meandering through the landscape.  
As they neared the structure ahead, it became evident the bridge was consisting of the remains of a fallen tree, which looked surprisingly normal among the trees of the Infected Forest. The less normal trees were still there, growing through the fallen plant's wood and gradually replacing it. Strangely, the top of the fallen tree had none of the snaking trunks growing out of it, forming a path on top. It appeared like the trees were manipulated into growing like this – there was certainly elven influence in this structure. But whether this was the influence of the elves from Alrenvel or other settlements at the forest's border or of the Sarul-Ras from the opposite side of the Bone Gorge was a whole different question.  
Canis' wolf sniffed at the base of the fallen tree, then crouched down with bristled neck fur and growling. The elven guide walked past the distressed wolf and its rider, who seemed similarly unhappy about the thought of crossing the structure, and began climbing the roots that grew out of the tree's rotting wood, both anchoring it firmly to the ground as well as providing a handy ramp to its top. Some of the more brisk Minions, among them Rust and the Red who got sick from eating the one of the corpse-controlling slugs yesterday, climbed right after him.   
Orell followed right after Canis on the tree bridge. It was too narrow to walk in any formation other than one behind the other, and the Minions got cautious, even more than back when they entered the forest for the first time. Indeed, such a bridge was a perfect place to set up an ambush or a trap, and this time Orell and Yerael himself had their hands on their weapons as well.  
Luckily, there were no ambushes or traps neither on the bridge nor right behind it. One by one, the travellers got off the roots, but there was no time for relaxing. They were in the territory of the elves that called this twisted forest their home. While Orell knew nothing about them, the way Yerael and the other elves from Alrenvel spoke about them told enough about the Sarul-Ras. They stopped for a few moments to have the Minions instructed. Then they continued onwards in absolute silence, watching and listening.  
First, the area appeared just like the forest on the Bone Gorge's other side, being the same rocky landscape where they had to walk around jutting rocks, step over cracks and take detours because of boulders or trees blocking the path. They slowly descended a slope, with the rocks getting gradually smaller, until they vanished entirely under moss and other plants, only appearing as bumps in the ground.   
They ate on their way, with Yerael pointing at several fruiting plants and gesturing that they were edible. A lot of the Minions resorted to eating the fruit as well, since none of them dared to step off the path Yerael was taking and attempting to catch any of the large insects or hairy scuttling creatures that looked like a cross between mice and lizards.  
Yerael ordered them to stop and get down several times, more often than yesterday, when something large decided to pass by. And this time, Orell and the Minions got to see one of the large, dangerous forest dwellers, as a group of five walked through a clearing they had just crossed themselves. They were big and possessed yellow pulsating light patterns on their heavily-armoured backs. Four pairs of thick, spider-like legs carried them effortlessly through the thick underbrush while their heads, that seemed to consist entirely of a set of tentacles, felt their way ahead.  
Not long after the tentacle-headed behemoths, there was the first major change in landscape. The snaking trees that grew into any direction possible retreated and more conventional-looking trees began to take over.  
Albeit, 'trees' was probably the wrong word, as these things could be called a tree in the same sense as a winter gale could be called an air current. The base of their trunks had diameters that were bigger than an average Punarim temple and their crowns were hidden behind veils of the smaller climbing trees that were using the massive trunks as support. And even if the trees appeared more conventional in their overall shape, this was the only conventional thing about them. The black, spiky bark bore rows of smooth patches which pulsated in waves of orange light running upwards, each wave accompanied by a low pound, like the beating of a massive heart. There were some branches spreading from the lower parts of the trunk, bearing leaves of colours leaves shouldn't have.  
The pounding drowned out nearly every other sound, making it impossible to listen for the presence of other creatures or the warning calls of birds, but with the crawling trees having moved to higher altitudes and the more sparse underbrush consisting of the omnipresent glowing fungi and grotesque animal-plants in between the massive roots and half-buried skeletons, they could move much faster and had a further overview of their surroundings. Moving as close to the tree titans' roots as possible to stay out of sight of the open spaces, they meandered through the grove. The Minions had their ears flat against their heads to diminish the volume of the trees' pounding, but their faces showed utter awe, something Orell didn't recall to have seen. They seemed to be as impressed of the bizarre landscape as he was himself. Yerael, who surely had been here more than once, focused on the trail ahead.  
Despite being forced to take a few detours to stay out of sight of some large creatures occupying the space between the trees they did leave the grove and its constant pounding faster than Orell had expected, and were in between the snaking trees again. They passed a strange artefact in silence, a kind of a totem pole consisting of strapped-together bones of different origin. Orell could make out the bones of humans or elves, but the rest was unrecognizable, most likely coming from the forest's strange fauna. It was topped off by a spiked skull nearly as big as himself.  
Shortly after, following the hour-long silence after they had left the bridge, Yerael spoke again.  
„We will rest here.“  
„We passed the Sarul-Ras territory, I assume?“  
„Yes, the bone construction was marking the border.“ Upon hearing this, the Minions broke out in chatter. They were happy not to spend their time silent any more. Some sat or laid down to rest after the brisk pace they had to take through the Sarul-Ras territory, others went around to look for food on the ground or on the tree bark, while one was busy plucking off the pink tentacles from an animal-plant he went by too close, which had stuck to his skin and broke off when he had withdrawn.  
Yerael plucked a raceme of yellow berries of a large-leafed ground plant and proceeded to eat it while searching for something on the ground.  
Orell watched him for a few minutes. „What are you looking for?“  
The elf looked up for a moment. „Your creature's remains.“  
They were that far already? Some of the Minions realized it as well, perking up their ears, while a few even got up and began to search the ground themselves. Orell rose from the snaking trunk he used as a rest and joined in the search. He might be tired from the walk, but he was very interested in some actual progress. While the paladins he had feared to be in the forest seemed to be absent so far and the Greens not in acute danger, he would be happy to get out of the Infected Forest as soon as possible and move on to less... bizarre places.  
It was one of the Browns who finally found them. Yerael congratulated the creature and patted his head, which resulted in the Minion giving the elf a lopsided grin and a stream of unintelligible grumbling from Gnarl on the magical link.   
The remains themselves were in a place Orell wouldn't have thought about searching. Only the bones were left. Strangely the slime-covered roots around them began to wrap them up already, despite the bones themselves not looking very old. The thickest of the roots grew beside the skull, with the lower jaw being fixed on the other side. Then it dawned to him what these roots meant.  
They had grown into the corpse's mouth and devoured it from the inside out. Even the trees here had a taste for the dead. He suppressed a shudder. Then, an unusually-straight stick in between the bones caught his eye. Orell tentatively pulled on it and surprisingly easy, it slid out from in between the roots and bones, revealing a leaf-shaped tip of polished wood with sharp edges, not dulled or decayed over the time it was stuck there and appearing like it naturally grew.  
An arrow of the Sarul-Ras.  
He eyed the arrow with a frown, then threw it away. „Since we are now where the only known trace of my creatures is, where will we start searching?“  
Yerael looked around, thinking. „To the Mires,“ he finally said. „This is the direction that will bring us away from the Sarul-Ras territory the fastest.“  
„It seems logical. To the Mires.“  
And they were moving forwards again.   
  
Orell quickly realized the orange-glowing tree giants weren't restricted to the Sarul-Ras territory, as they heard their pounding steadily growing in volume soon after. Seemingly, the place with the Minion remains was just a pocket of snaking trees surrounded by the pulsating giants. Soon, the giant trees were in sight as well, allowing for easier travelling again.   
This time, it was a swampy area, with a soft, wet ground that smacked under their steps and open water, hardly visible under a layer of floating plants. Since the giant trees were now standing on their multitude of roots, with their trunks not having any contact with the ground, they didn't have to walk around them any more, but the travel didn't become much easier because of this.   
The Minions, particularly the Reds, were very displeased with entering the stagnant pools that were everywhere. While Yerael still led them through a path that didn't actually require them to enter any of the pools, much to Orell's delight, it still forced them to walk in a row due to the chosen path often being very narrow. The fact some of the pools had giant, dark-blue toads sitting in their middle and croaking occasionally didn't make the walk easier. Yerael widely circumvented the toads, while Orell and especially the Minions silently complied, as some of them still had fresh memories of the fight against the fire-bellied toad in the volcano.  
When they took a shortcut over one of the tree's roots to avoid a large overgrown pool with an equally overgrown toad underneath, Yerael saw something to their left in the distance.   
„You don't mind if we take a closer look?“ the elf asked.  
„What is it?“  
„A mostly devoured carcass. I want to know if it was a kill of _sekels_ , we really don't want to run into them.“  
Orell raised an eyebrow. „What if they are still close to the carcass?“  
„ _Sekels_ only suck out the inner organs, then move on.“  
The disgust on Orell's face was hidden by his helmet. „Then, have fun.“  
They carefully meandered towards the cadaver as soon as they had wet, mushy ground under their feet again. Just because the _sekels_ might move on after feeding didn't mean other predators and scavengers eating it afterwards did. When Yerael stopped before the carcass, looking at the torn-up ground around it, Orell nearly gagged from the stench. The Minions were oddly elated, some of them eyeing the cadaver with hungry glances. Canis' wolf, currently not ridden, strolled over to it, barked away a few smaller flying scavengers and then took some bites of it. Seeing the carcass was apparently safe, a few of the Minions ran over to it as well.  
To distract himself from the stench and the sight of Minions eating, Orell looked at the ground himself. It showed a multitude of traces of different size and shape. There were trails of deep imprints of hooved creatures simply crossing the site, furrows from crawling bodies meandering through the muck, clawed feet of different sizes and many different, undefinable imprints. While wondering what kind of creature would have left the strange, clover-shaped track in front of him, Orell noticed something inside one of the traces. The track of one of the Minions led straight through it, but right next to the Minion trail, there was a very similar-looking imprint. A bit smaller, with the three toes spread wide apart and holes in front of them, coming from hooked claws.  
„No _sekels_. “Yerael walked up to him. „We can continue, just-“ Orell gestured him to stop, then pointed at the curious imprint.  
„I think we are going into the right direction“, he said.  
Yerael knelt down, taking a closer look at the track. His brows furrowed for a few moments, then he grinned wider than ever.  
„Very good! You have a talent for tracking!“  
„If he is going to pat your head now, I will personally dig the way to the forest with my claws and strangle him.“   
„Look out for more trails, we need to know the direction it goes!“  
After finding several more of the tracks in the mud around the carcass, Orell ordered Canis to circle the kill site's border for his wolf to sniff out the point where the traces left it. The wolf barked a few times and Canis waved when they finally found them. Both backed away when Yerael came running to them.  
„They lead to the east,“ he said enthusiastically. „Look!“ He pointed at another three-clawed imprint in the wet moss. Orell grinned behind his helmet. They were progressing faster than he had thought. If their lucky strain continued and they would keep staying out of the sight of the Sarul-Ras and other dangerous creatures, the Green Minions would be back in the Tower and the Infected Forest could be left behind as soon as the Gates were working again.  
They followed the trail Canis and his wolf were giving and repeatedly saw the imprints on the moss or in the mud around the ponds. But what they didn't see, hidden behind the near-black foliage of one of the titanic trees, was the pair of eyes in a painted face observing them closely.


	10. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, we see Orell walking through the Infected Forest SOME MORE, a tentacly encounter, a first glance at the Sarul-Ras, Orell starting to eat crustaceans and the wonders of centipede venom. Also, some Ingrid action and Grime being angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, critique and improvement suggestions are welcome.

„Watch where you're going!“  
Grime barely avoided hitting the forthcoming Brown as he ran down the tunnel. He knew that the Brown was not to blame, but due to the current situation, Gnarl's assistant was very agitated.   
Since yesterday's noon, he was wasting his time with helping Grubby to repair and modify the Gates.   
'Going to teach you everything it takes to guide an Overlord'. He could only roll his eyes at those words spoken by Gnarl many years ago. Rather than teaching him, it was nearly always 'Grime, fetch me this', 'Grime, inform this person of that' and 'Grime, get me some maggots from the Barracks'. 'Grime this, Grime that'. And now, while the Overlord was stuck in a mutated forest, he was stuck running errands for the Foundations.  
He shot out of the tunnel and into the dry heat of the nearby forge, then made a sharp turn to the left, towards Grubby's workshop. There, he headed straight for the already overfilled wooden table next to a large, humming construct.  
„More copper wire,“ he threw a roll of red metal onto the single free space of the table, „Netherworld rock conductors, isolator alloy and mandelite ore.“ He threw the ore slab and the strange devices made from rock and metal on the copper roll, then barely stopped one of the conductors from rolling off the table.  
Rustling and a bit of cursing was heard from within the nearby construct, then Grubby clambered out of the opened hatch. He grabbed the conductors from the table, then pointed at the mandelite ore slab. „Wrap copper wire around ore, no overlaps.“ Then he vanished inside the hatch again.   
Grime was about to throw one of his obscene gestures at the digger, which he usually preserved for Gnarl. But then he did as said, clenching his jaws from the unpleasant tingle touching the mandelite caused.   
Just as he was wrapping the last coils around the ore, Grubby crawled out of the hatch again. He wiped his hands on a piece of filthy cloth, distributing the dirt rather than getting it off. For the entire time he did this, he was staring at Grime.  
„You go in now.“  
Grime stared at the digger in bewilderment. „What?“  
„You small enough to reach the upper slots. Me will guide you. Take ore and alloy.“  
Grime stared longer, then took his shoulder bag off and tentatively walked over to the open hatch in the construct. He crouched down and looked into its darkness, listening to the humming and soft pounding coming from the inside.  
„A bit faster, Gnarl going to rip our heads off if we don't make it work in time!“  
The assistant snapped out of his stupor and went into the hatch in a near-jump. Letting his eyes adapt to the interior's darkness, he rolled onto his back to look at the Gate-controlling construct's innards, the majority consisting of slowly spinning, carved plates in its centre. He pushed himself further inside, past the plates above and to the opposite wall. There, the control elements were located; soil samples, stabilisators and amplifiers. Grime understood little of the construct's workings, but from that which he snapped up from the conversations between Grubby and the other workers, these parts were allowing the Gates to drill through any type of ground, from the softest soil to the hardest rock.  
„Where do I put it?“ Grime shouted back.  
„See empty slots at the top?“  
Grime squinted to see through the web of tubes and chains, where he could indeed make out rectangular holdings, not occupied by copper-wrapped rock samples.  
„Yes.“  
„Put your piece into second left slot in top row!“  
Now it was clear why Grubby wasn't doing it himself. The slot was behind a tangle of tubes and bars, which Grime had to nearly dislocate his arm to get through. The bulkier digger would have never fit through. Not being able to see the slot any more, he felt for it, then slid the mandelite slab into the slot.  
„Done!“ he shouted, pulling his arm back. „What about the isolator alloy?“  
„Fourth, no, third round opening to the left! With yellow mark on it!“  
Grime gave an annoyed look into the direction of the hatch. It was too dark inside the construct to make out any colours. He looked for the designated slot, then shoved the piece of alloy into it. The humming suddenly started getting louder and Grime saw how the plates begun to spin faster.  
„Done!“ he shouted and climbed out of the hatch, into the orange light of the lava-illuminated Foundations.  
„You sure you got right hatch for isolator?“ Grubby spoke with an expression of slight worry.  
„Yes, why...“   
The humming of the construct still got louder, and the entire thing began to rattle.  
 _Shit_.  
„To the tunnels, close doors after you!“ Grubby shouted at the Minions in the surroundings, some of them already having started to retreat when they noticed the rattling.  
Just as Grime got into the tunnel and Grubby slammed the gate shut, he could hear a whistle rapidly rising in pitch and volume.  
The discharge of uncontrolled magic from the Gate construct was strong enough to throw some of the boulders spinning around the Dark Tower off their course and let them plummet into its walls.  
  
„What was that?“ Orell asked, hearing a series of explosions through the Shroud.  
„Don't worry, Sire, these were just floating rocks that crashed into the Tower. It occasionally happens. The walls are magically shielded from such things.“  
During an evening in the Private Quarters Orell had once asked himself if the boulders always stayed on the course or if they sometimes went astray, but now he knew and was slightly worried about such an event happening while being close. He furrowed his brows, but then focused on the trail ahead.  
They had been following the trail of the Green Minions for a few hours, and the initial enthusiasm about the easiness to follow it soon became a chore. The trails led through the shallower parts of the ponds more often than he would have expected from the reactions of the Minions beside him when entering water and even more often led up the roots of the titanic trees that dominated the swamp's landscape.   
These parts were particularly troublesome, as neither the size nor the slope of the roots always allowed Orell, Yerael or Canis' wolf to follow the trail. These were the parts where they had to circle the tree until the trail was found again and the reason why the progress was so slow, even with some of the more alert Minions climbing after it and looking out for footprints in the moss or crushed mushrooms atop the roots.   
As they followed the tracks on the ground for a change, Yerael hissed and gestured Orell and the Minion horde to hide behind the nearest one of the large roots. With no time to run towards a better hiding place, they all had to go into knee-deep, stinking water. No one made a noise, but the face expressions of the Minions clearly told what they were thinking of the situation.   
The reason for their hiding took its time to trample past, rippling the overgrown water of the pond with each one of its heavy steps. Orell dared a look at the creature from below the root. He could only see the three pairs of feet with wide toes arranged in a star shape, each of them big enough to entirely cover a carriage. The creature let out a deep, loud bellow, then plowed through a tangle of snaking trees, vanishing from sight.  
Yerael was looking at it from underneath the root as well. „It's clear now,“ he said quietly.  
Upon hearing this, the Minions jumped out of the pond at surprising speeds, splashing the foul water all over each other. Orell and Yerael followed soon after, taking their boots off and letting the water flow out as soon as they had halfways solid ground under their feet.  
„What was this?“ Orell asked after putting his left boot back on.  
„A haruk. They are actually harmless, but the whoopers that follow them everywhere on their backs,“ Yerael answered, shaking a bright green worm out of his footwear, „those are dangerous. They will swoop down on everything the haruk startles and impale their prey on the haruk's spines, to store it for later.“  
Orell pulled a grimace, invisible under the shadows of his helmet. „Lovely.“  
With their boots relatively dry and Canis having picked up the trail of the Green Minions, they were on their way again, in a direction thankfully leading away from the giant beast and its shrike riders.   
And then Gnarl spoke again. „You useless sacks of infected succubus discharge! Just how did you manage to screw _this_ up!?“  
„Gnarl, what is going on?“ Orell asked with a tone of worry. Such streams of insults usually meant something was going wrong, or at least going in a direction Gnarl didn't want.  
„The sand-brained haemorrhoids in the Netherworld's Foundations have somehow managed to overload the Gate control, which will mean getting the Gates working again will take _even longer_ now.“  
Orell's heart sank. „Was anyone injured?“ Strangely, this was his first thought. He was too fed up with lamenting being stuck in the Infected Forest to care about it any more.  
„Unfortunately, no. Except the Gate control, that is.“  
„Speaking of Gates and misfortunes, what is the search for Bloodsheep doing?“  
There was a soft groan heard over the link. „Still nothing. Not from Nordberg, not from Nordhaven, not from the wilderness around. My best guess is that he ran into the forests and got eaten by wolves.“  
„Still, continue searching. Even for an eaten carcass lying in the woods, I want confirmation on his death, and the Nordbergians want it, too.“  
„Very well, Sire.“  
„Speaking of Nordbergians, what is Ingrid doing?“  
  
Since the placating of the Nordbergians, things had returned to the usual. Giblet was hammering away on the next project, which, despite being one sword rather than an entire set of plate armour, seemed to take the same amount of time, because he was using a forging technique Ingrid had only heard about but never seen. Nordbergians used simple, solid metal that got the job done while the sun worshippers demanded quantity over quality. She watched the Minion forge master hammer a cleft into the block of metal, then fold the two pieces over one another and merge them. He sprinkled a dark powder over the block, repeated the process and put the metal back into the fire.  
„How many folds will you put into it?“  
Giblet looked briefly at her, then scratched his rear. „Many.“  
„What if I take over for you?“  
„Not this one. You no did folding metal before. This is very important sword for Mastah, you can make blades for Minions first.“  
Giblet was right. As little as Ingrid knew about folding metal, she still knew it was a finicky process, where the result's quality could decrease drastically, should it be done at the wrong temperature, with the wrong composition of used metals or with the wrong amount of the hardening powder being added.  
„Will you teach me doing it, then?“  
Giblet didn't answer immediately, instead, he took the metal and turned it around in the smith's hearth. „Later.“  
Ingrid looked at the metal in the fire for a few seconds. The Minion has been unusually monosyllabic since yesterday, after one of the creatures came into the Forge to bring food and quietly told Giblet something, which had made him visibly angry. When Ingrid had asked what the news were that upset him that much, he had remained silent. Instead, he absorbed himself in work, unwilling to accept any help, be it from Ingrid or from any of the other Minions inhabiting the Forge. The latter he was sometimes even vehemently chasing away, only tolerating Ingrid in close proximity over longer timespans.  
Chewing on her lip while thinking, she decided it would be better to leave the Forge Master alone for the time. Even if watching him forging a sword out of folded steel was very interesting, she felt that Giblet wanted to be alone at the time, possibly only unwilling to send her away like the other Minions because of her gained status. Besides, there was something she had wanted to do since throwing the shackles over the balustrade...  
„Giblet, is it okay if I go away for some time, visiting my village?“  
Not even looking, the Forge Master gave a short nod. „Ask one of Minions here to accompany you, Gnarl might get ideas else.“  
Finding a willing Minion was easy. Then came the unpleasant part.  
Ingrid stood at the ledge of the Forge, an unsecured rock protrusion jutting out with an orange-glowing, endless abyss below, its true depth concealed by the steam rising from below and scattering from the waterfalls. As she stared down, wondering what may lay hidden in the abyss' depth, an equally unsecured platform set onto a large, jagged boulder flew towards the ledge, where it came to a halt and docked.  
Ingrid hated that part.  
The scrawny Brown accompanying her jumped on the platform without a second thought. Ingrid carefully set a foot on the swaying surface, hesitating to do the next step. Two times she had used this thing, both times she feared to be thrown off balance by the swaying and fall. Ingrid shut her eyes for a moment and did the step. Then, she quickly crouched down and put her hands firmly on the platform's ground, because the really horrifying part was about to come now, when the platform detached from the ledge and took a course downwards at a neck-breaking speed.  
With a third flight ending by not falling down into the bottomless abyss, Ingrid stepped on solid rock again, a jutting platform with designated docking spots for the floating rocks several hundred metres below the location of the Forge. Staggering a little from motion sickness, she went away from the ledge and into the large hall within the Tower, which was used as the throne room.   
Behind a hallway with halberd-wielding Browns dressed in black plaids and strange, oversized helmets standing on both sides and giving her and the accompanying Minion bored looks was the blue glow of the portal on the roof intermingling with the orange of braziers and the ever-present lava streams.  
Ingrid passed the guard Minions and entered the actual throne room, looking around for a certain glowing crystal on top of a certain stick.  
The crystal, stick and the rest that was attached to them stood in front of the conspicious depression in the middle of the room. Ingrid knew that the plates in the depression were able to slide away and reveal a round hole leading to the abyss below. While she saw it open whenever the portal above was activated, letting the user experience the fall for the fraction of a second, it seemed to have an entirely different purpose at the moment.  
The hole was open at the time, too, but instead of showing the abyss it showed a moving image. Ingrid looked down into the hole to see a dark, bizarre landscape of titanic, glowing trees, with misshapen plants and fungi covering nearly every surface. The scene was shown like through the eyes of someone, with a young man in strange clothes and a bow slung over his back walking in front. She could also hear the scenery and even the smell seemed to filter through – the stench of mould and bog made her almost gag.   
The elder Minion staring at the scene from the border of the depression passed her a short glance.  
„Ah, it's you,“ he mumbled.  
Ingrid tore her eyes off the strange scene to face the elder.   
„I just wanted to say I want to visit Faairdal,“ she told him.   
Gnarl stared at her as if she suddenly had grown a second head. „No,“ he finally said.  
„But you do know that your master has given me permission to go as I please. And I will return later.“  
„Still, no.“  
Suppressing the desire to kick the perverted bastard into the hole, she tried a different tactic.  
„There are a few things in my forge what would be very useful for Giblet.“  
„And those were?“ He faced the image in the hole again. „Besides, your forge had been emptied already.“  
„Not the secret storage room I keep my less common metals in. Everlightian steel, dwarven alloys, durium...“  
Now, Gnarl's ears went up. „Durium, you say? I will inform the Minions in Faairdal to get it.“  
„Your Minions have no clue how to open the lock.“ Ingrid folded her hands before her chest.  
Gnarl gave her a frown. „Fine. But you will have to walk the entire way to Faairdal yourself, because the Gates are currently not working.“  
Even with this kind of news, she was cheering on the inside. „Can I at least have directions? I'm not sure where this place is and how to get out of here.“  
„And it should stay that way. You, Snotter, lead her out of the Burrows and to Faairdal. And tie her eyes shut, I don't want anyone to know the entrance to the Netherworld.“  
  
„And you let her go that easily?“ Orell snickered.   
„Well, yes, Sire. I don't know when she will return, but if she manages to get back in time and comes back with a few pieces of durium, Giblet can integrate the metal into your new sword, making it even better.“  
„Durium? Here?“ Orell didn't know a lot about the different metals, but he was aware this metal was very rare and had an almost mythological status in Aurenthuria, being used only sparingly in metalworks preserved for the most important, or richest, of people.   
„I could hardly believe it myself, Master. Weaving in a little bit of durium into that sword of yours would make it harder and sharper than what Giblet could achieve with steel alone. It won't break like a twig when a paladin steps on it the next time.“  
„But won't it be heavier, too?“ Orell asked. He was used to the light swords the Aurenthurian nobility preferred and he would like to keep it that way. Switching to heavier swords would mean switching to a different swordfighting style and he didn't want to afford the time to learn it, not with the paladins breathing down his neck.  
„Not much. If the weight turns out to be a problem, Giblet can add a few magical ingredients. Your sword will be light as a feather if you wish, Sire.“  
Orell's attention perked up. „You mean, it is possible to imbue a weapon with magic?“ He knew of attempts to add magical features to weapons, but it usually harmed the metal.   
„With durium added, yes. Few metals are able to hold magic permanently without suffering from it, durium being one of them. If you prefer your weapons and armour magical, Sire, arcanium would be the best choice. No metal holds magic as good as arcanium.“  
„Arcanium... do arcanium mines still exist?“  
He heard a sigh through the Shroud. „That is something you would know better than me, Lord, I have been all but locked up in the Netherworld for the last forty years. Back then, even before we spread terror from our current subterraneous base, we had an arcanium mine in the Golden Mountains under our control. I'm not sure if this mine still exists, but knowing dwarves, it probably does and is used well.“  
Orell thought for a moment. „I didn't hear anything about an arcanium mine being used in the Golden Mountains, the little bit of arcanium used in Aurenthuria comes from the reforging of old equipment. But dwarves aren't known for their candour regarding their economy, I wouldn't put it past them to sit on hundreds of arcanium mines and laugh up their sleeves over our cluelessness, while they build one incredible machine after another with it.“  
„If that is true, Master, someone has to teach them some manners, and I know very well who should do this...“  
„Stop!“ Yerael interrupted the discussion about metals and dwarven manners, pointing at a white netting of something that looked like oversized mould covering the side of a tree and spreading over their heads. The ground before them was similarly overgrown, with thicker strands being among them which ended in ring-like structures. The elven guide then pointed at them.  
„Under no circumstances do step into these.“  
„Why?“ one of the Minions asked and decided to find it out without waiting for an answer, poking one of the rings with a bone he pulled out of the soil. With a pop, the ring inflated to close tightly around the bone, then the strand it was attached to curled up into a spiral, lifting the ring and the captured bone up, towards the overhanging, mould-covered roots.  
„These are flesh-eating mushrooms.“ Yerael then pointed at white structures hanging from the ceiling Orell first thought to be parts of overgrown roots, but then he realized these were animals, caught in the rings and with the mould having permeated their bodies to turn them into fuzzy white silhouettes. Orell frowned; he was pretty sure the fungus didn't actively kill its prey, instead just starting to devour it once it was caught. It was a fate he certainly didn't want to suffer himself or have it happen to the Minions. Yerael had walked on, his steps leaving clearly visible prints in the fungal mass, next to the greying three-toed traces they were following. One after another, the Minions followed in the elf's traces, only few of them daring to find their own ways around the living traps. Gnarl remained silent.   
  
Gnarl spoke again some time later, and it was not about metal. It was another boast of swearing.  
„These slug-sucking scoundrels! Well, I can't blame them, they _do_ live in trees, but if they had at least the courtesy to leave the ground with their colony in smelling distance...“  
Orell, Yerael and the Minions were standing in front of the orange-glowing, pulsating wall of a tree titan's trunk, staring up into the heights, where the light waves vanished behind blood-red foliage. Canis' wolf scratched a last time at the trunk, then let go of it and turned around.  
The tracks they have been following went up the tree and out of their reach.  
Orell faced the elven guide. „What now?“  
Yerael took time to first scratch his chin, then to rub his neck. „We will rest here,“ he finally answered.  
The routine was nearly the same as the times before. Orell and Yerael helped themselves from a nearby berry bush-squid while the Minions, not adverse of picking some berries off the squirming organism themselves, focused on catching more lively food. Watching absentmindedly how two Browns pulled a bright yellow furry earthworm out from a crack in the giant tree's bark, Orell felt like taking a bite from it himself. While the fruit in the Infected Forest were far more variable than even the fruit sold on the occasional Ruborian market fares in the Golden City, he was slowly getting tired of them. Thinking back, he might be interested in some mutton again, even.  
„How will we search for the Greens from here?“ he asked the guide, after both having finished their meals. Some of the Minions were still noisily eating.  
„It is very hard to follow the directions the branches go to. I would further follow the direction the traces went, but I can guarantee nothing. We are walking blind.“ Yerael stared up into the canopy.  
 _Dammit_.  
„Any kind of hints where foul-smelling creatures that live on trees apparently could have made their home? Gnarl?“  
„Well, Sire, we have found them at all kinds of places in the forests they had retreated to. Usually, they prefer the darkest, smelliest places full of poisonous vegetation they enhance the growth of further and aren't even adverse to settle in wetlands. But they did seem to have a preference towards the proximity of limestone structures. Karst caves, mounds and the like.“  
Orell forwarded this information to Yerael.  
„The Infected Forest is darker and more poisonous than any forest,“ the elf replied. „But there is a cave system some distance away. I have never been there, but if I remember right, it is in this direction, past the Sarul-Ras territory.“ He pointed in the direction he meant, which lay to the left of what they had been following.  
„How long will it take to reach it?“  
„I'm not sure. A few days, I think, we will have to walk around the Sarul-Ras territory to reach it.“  
A few days, just like the estimated time to get the Gates working again.  
„What about the ruins you mentioned, are they on the way? Or are there other ruins?“  
„Mighil-Nes would be to the right on the way to the caves. Do you need to visit it?“  
The temptation to go there and pay a visit to the Netherworld was strong.  
„How far does it diverge from the designated path to the caves?“  
„Far. Mighil-Nes is inside the Sarul-Ras territory, which we will try to avoid as far as possible. Your green creatures are killed by the Sarul-Ras, so they will have settled far away from them.“  
Orell frowned. „Fine, we will not go Mighil-Nes. Are there any other ruins around the caves? Ruins not in Sarul-Ras territory?“  
Yerael pulled a grimace. „I don't know. I hardly went out that far. I have not seen any other ruins there yet.“  
The Minions suddenly broke out in laughter when one of the Reds tossed an overripe fruit into the face of a Brown during a quarrel.  
„I think this is the signal to go,“ Orell said.  
  
 _Home_ , she thought.  
After the time being away that had felt for her like ages, Ingrid was back in Faairdal.  
The changes were almost invisible, but they were definitely present, even glaring for someone who grew up in this hamlet. She already noticed it outside by the bizarre sight of a group of sheep being herded by two grumpy-looking Minions riding on wolves into the direction the old shepherd Vulmar wanted them to. Behind the wooden palisades there were more Minions standing around, both brown and red, pretending to be guards. Ingrid couldn't believe they were actually guards, as they were armed with rags and kitchen utensils rather than actual armour and weapons. The Minions in the throne room had been guards.  
The people had changed, too. Many appeared empty-eyed and Ingrid could feel a sting in her heart not seeing old Bjoern sitting in front of the tavern or Hilda's children playing in front of the bakery. But others were surprisingly high-spirited, much to Ingrid's bewilderment.  
„Ingrid, what a joy to see you!“  
Ingrid turned to the left and her face lit up. Then she fell into the tight embrace of Gudrun, the fisherman's widow who was a good friend of her.  
„Hello! I did miss you, too.“  
Gudrun let go of her, still grinning from ear to ear. „I have feared you were dead! Did you escape from the demons that took you?“ She cast a glance at the Minion that has led her from the Netherworld to Faairdal. Her smile changed into an expression of confusion.  
„In a way, I did. I have proven my worth and became accepted by them.“  
The grin crept back on Gudrun's face. „That is the Ingrid I know, always making the best out of any situation. But now I'm curious, where were you? How is it inside the lair? Did they at least treat you well? No flogging or torture? When I heard you were punished I had feared for the worst...“  
„I'm okay, thanks for your worries“, Ingrid quickly replied before the stream of questions from Gudrun would make her lose the thread and forget what she originally wanted to say. „It's a scary place at the first glance, but the inhabitants are much nicer than you would think.“ The Minion made some strange noises that were probably some kind of approval.  
„Oh I did notice that. Them taking our village over was horrible, I will not deny that, but from then on, everything went upwards, really. There was not a single sheep lost to the wolves during the time and the shepherds were never as fast to move their herds between the pastures as of now.“   
„Speaking of sheep, have you already heard Bloodsheep has been overthrown by the Overlord?“  
„He did? I bet a lot of people here will be thrilled at this kind of news! But will the snow return now? What about the shepherds? Will they have to give up on their sheep? What about the sheep themselves, will they all have to be sent off to the Overlord's lair?“ Gudrun asked with a worried expression. From the people of Faairdal, Gudrun was among the few who didn't look at the shepherding business in disdain or apathy, but actually was in full support of it. Ingrid thought it was because the old traditions of Nordberg had taken her husband to a watery grave long ago.  
Ingrid managed a crooked smile. „No, don't worry. He actually did say we have to keep shepherding, because the snow will not return for some time, and changing back to hunting and fishing will not keep us alive yet. Everything will stay as it is.“  
„That is good news, but oh, Dalla's husband will foam at the mouth! So, Ingrid, are you going to stay? The demons looted your forge, it's nothing but an empty shack, and they ruined your furniture, too.“ She cast a nervous glance at the Brown, who was still by Ingrid's side. He didn't seem to care, instead he was waving at another Minion, one who wore a flat basket on his head and brandished a fire rake.  
They reached the forge and Ingrid could see what Gudrun meant. Without the benches inside the half-open hut and the tools on its walls it resembled more a hollowed-out shell rather than a forge, and her adjacent house had its door smashed in and the windows broken. Ingrid felt anger well up in her, remembering the day they took her down into the Netherworld.   
„No, I'm just here for a visit. I need to get my metals out of the storage room for an important project down in the Netherworld.“  
Gudrun's smile dropped. „That's sad, I really missed you. What kind of project is it?“  
„A sword. The blacksmith I'm working with knows the metal-folding technique, so I thought combining the steel with some of my fancier metals will make the weapon even better.“  
„Ooh, then I understand why you don't want to stay. But will you visit us more often? And forge us a few pots and pans?“  
„I will.“ Ingrid grinned and gave the older woman a goodbye wave. „But now I have to get my metals, Giblet is waiting for me.“  
Gudrun waved back, then hurried off, most likely to tell her other friends about what Ingrid had said. Ingrid entered her home, stepping over a few remains of the door.  
The Minions had done a good work in ruining the interior. Ingrid had already noticed they were not very bright, but by the looks of her home, they had been searching for forging equipment in places nobody in their right mind would have hidden them. She felt the intense desire to kick the Minion standing next to her. Then she caught herself, since this particular Minion hardly was responsible for the destruction of her home, and decided to talk with Orell about this; if the little bastards could destroy her home, they could fix it, too.  
Ingrid told the Minion to wait at the entrance, then walked over to the dusty, stained carpet in front of her destroyed bed. Kicking the debris from the bed aside and pushing the heavy chest away that secured the other end of the carpet to the ground, she revealed the trap door hidden underneath the carpet after she rolled it away. The key for the lock she removed from underneath a loose plank in the wall. Since the hook she used to open the door was absent, most likely taken by one of the Minions to be used as a makeshift weapon, Ingrid had to improvise and pry it open it with a splintered plank she could fit into the ring of the door. With a lit oil lamp that somehow survived the Minions' looting in her left hand, she descended into her personal paradise.  
Different sample alloys, strange tools from overseas and even a few masterful weapons were stowed away here. This collection had already existed before her father had learned on which end to hold a smithing hammer. It was a legacy, collected over a time of maybe centuries, accumulated by multiple generations of successive blacksmiths. There was no way she would hand over all of it to Giblet's forge. This collection would stay here and will be passed on to her future children.   
Ingrid walked over to one of the cupboards and opened the uppermost drawer. One look at its contents showed her it was not the correct one. Even if there was a system behind which drawers contained what kinds of tools or materials, she didn't label them, relying on her memories. Unfortunately, the durium pieces were not something she used a lot.  
Ingrid found them in the third drawer. Even though she hasn't seen them for years, she recognized the unusually dark grey material with its reddish sheen immediately. It was not much, indeed. One small ingot, a few broken scraps and a weathered, dull dagger without a handle. She took the ingot and the scraps, but the dagger she left behind. That one might come in handy later. Dropping the cold and unusually heavy metal pieces into her pocket, she climbed the ladder up to close off her realm and hide it from the Minions' sight underneath the carpet and the rubble again. The accompanying Brown waited for her outside the house and Ingrid told him to lead her back immediately, since in the forge underneath the earth, Giblet was waiting for her as well.  
  
They left the swamp behind soon and picked up a bit of speed after not having to avoid the stagnant ponds and the toads any more. Aside from Orell nearly tripping over one of the reddish-brown worms and a Brown being attacked by some kind of sentient slime, nothing worth of interest happened. The night of this day was spent in between the roots of one of the pulsating, glowing tree titans. Once again, Orell was surprised how well Yerael and the Minions went along with each other, particularly Rust seemed to get attached to the elven guide.   
With a dinner consisting of bright yellow tubers, something surprisingly one of the Browns had dug out and Yerael confirmed to be edible, there was a bit of diversion from the constant fruit this time. He ate them raw, Yerael still being strictly against igniting any fire. 'Fire would attract the Sarul-Ras immediately', he had said. Instead, they entertained themselves this evening watching several heavily-intoxicated Minions that had eaten some of the smaller, toad-like creatures hopping around between the massive roots and hardly got any sleep because of the constant pounding from the trees.  
After a thankfully slug-free awakening, they were on foot again very soon, picking their breakfast off the underbrush's branches as they went. On this day they progressed well, even if they had to involuntarily pause for several hours when several haruks crossed their path and decided to take a rest in their proximity, while their whoopers scoured the surroundings for food. Orell was slowly getting used to it and his desire to get back into the Netherworld slowly waned, being replaced by a blissful indifference. He simply let the time pass by without having any reference to it, with the sky being invisible and the light of the mushrooms and trees being unchanging. His mind wandered, chewing on the plans of future conquest as soon as the Green Minions were recovered. At the evening they entered an area of snaking trees, where they spent the night in a depression, getting a much better night rest outside of hearing range of the tree titans.   
The fourth day in the Infected Forest began in a fairly usual way, with Orell pulling one of the reddish-brown worm creatures he had seen several times already out of his clothes.   
However, this was probably the most usual part of this day, as in the rest of the day the situation turned itself upside-down.  
On the way through the snaking trees, ducking under low branches, stepping over lying trunks and avoiding the hairy purple plants Yerael said to be poisonous on contact, he asked Gnarl about the state of the Gates again.  
„Not much better than yesterday, Sire. I'm not sure whether the lazy pimplebottoms of the Foundations are having daily orgies involving sheep, cucumbers and fish oil up there or they are actually busy fixing the Gate, but there haven't been any good news about the situation.“  
Gnarl paused. „On the bright side, there haven't been any magical eruptions, either, so they at least didn't manage to make the problem worse than it already is.“   
„Is there anything else notable to report? What Juno is doing, the progress on the sword, the search for Bloodsheep, anything else from Nordberg?“  
He heard a short snort. „Lady Juno has been redecorating the Private Quarters together with Scruffy, now the repairs have been finished there. The sword is done, now it only needs a handle and some polishing. Bloodsheep still hasn't- look out!“  
Orell didn't hear the last two words, as he was busy whirling around in confusion from the whizzing sounds passing them from the right.  
„Down!“ Yerael yelled, jumping behind a root and withdrawing his bow. The Minions scattered in all directions, one of the Reds fell with a short scream, a bloodied, elongate object sticking out of his back. An object with a leaf-shaped tip, appearing like being made from polished wood.  
Sarul-Ras arrows.  
Another arrow hit Orell in the shoulder, clanking off the pauldron dangerously close to a joint in the armour. He ducked under another root, trying to make out the assailants. From his own root, Yerael was firing his own arrows upwards, immediately going behind his cover after each shot. The Browns scattered in a panic, most of them having ducked themselves under the same root as Orell, while several Reds were flinging their fire upwards, onto the branches of the snaking trees. The napalm splattered on the uneven bark, bathing the weakly-illuminated scene in a bright, yellow light.  
And then he saw them. Running over the trunks and branches like over solid ground and shooting their arrows at the Minions on the go. Clad in tattered clothes that seemed to consist of leaves, bark and mushroom leather, their skin painted in earthly hues with minor bright accents, making themselves hardly visible in the environment. Communicating with each other through barks and bird-like whistles. One of them screamed when a Red's fireball hit him, setting his easily-flammable clothing ablaze. Another one was wounded by Yerael's arrows and fell out of the tree. He tried to crawl away when Canis and his wolf jumped out of the underbrush, grabbed him by the leg and dragged him into the security of the bushes to finish him off. Orell was glad he didn't have to watch whatever made the Sarul-Ras produce these blood-curdling screams.   
Orell had to think fast. He was not able to contribute to the fight, since he didn't have any ranged weapons with him. Seeing one of the craftier Browns who stopped running around and started flinging bones and mushrooms at the wild elves getting nailed to a tree, he first focused on the Brown Minions and made a mental call-back command to get them at least out of range. The Reds seemed to be fine, since they had figured out to duck behind the roots between shots by now.   
Then he finally had an idea. He gave the Reds the mental command to aim their fire on the branches the Sarul-Ras were running around on.  
The fire was very contained, only burning up the Reds' own fuel, but it still did its work. Soon, the Sarul-Ras were not able to run around on the branches any more. Some of them seemed to retreat, some swiftly climbed up higher, out of the Reds' throwing range, while the rest started to jump down and drew their daggers. Now it was time for close combat, where Orell could definitely participate.  
With a mental command, he let the Browns swarm out to encircle and attack the Sarul-Ras on the ground and making sure the shield carriers were in front. Then he drew his sword to engage one of the wild elves who lunged at him from behind a tree himself. The Sarul-Ras, a young man with fiery red hair, covered in a mixture of leaves, moss and shaggy fur, held himself in a crouching position while making wild, unpredictable slashes. Orell struck at him, but the nimble man jumped out of range, then closed in immediately after the sword had passed by, landing a strike. Orell could barely block it off with his gauntlet, then the elf was out of range again, his piercing silvery eyes glaring. The second and third attack were almost the same, the Sarul-Ras avoided the sword entirely, not even trying to block, and immediately counterattacked with wild, unpredictable swings aimed at the joints Orell could barely evade. _These elves are experienced in taking out armoured foes_ , he thought. _Aurenthurian paladins, most likely_. The fourth attack was successful, however, it was thanks to the help of Canis' wolf who tackled the unsuspecting Sarul-Ras from behind, allowing enough distraction for Orell to finish his foe off with a swift strike to the chest.   
Canis and his wolf made off to fight a Sarul-Ras woman which was attacking a Red, while another elf replaced the one Orell had just killed, this time one who wore a skull with multiple eye sockets and feather decorations on his head. His tactic was nearly the same, staying out of range and counterattacking. Orell decided to change his tactic and feigned an attack to get the elf into range. He was nearly successful, and landed a shallow cut on the Sarul-Ras' right arm. The wild elf sneered at him, showing that even with feigns he was too fast to be successfully hit. He raised his bone dagger in wait for a new attack or another opening, which never came. There was a loud series of whistles coming from between the snaking trees and all the Sarul-Ras immediately turned and ran, up the trunks and out of sight in the dense foliage. The place was silent again, save for the coughing and hacking breaths of dying elves and Minions.  
Orell was dumbfounded at first. The Sarul-Ras didn't even look close to losing. Speaking of losing, he had to check on the status of his horde. Several had been hit by arrows, some were stabbed, one was lying on the ground whimpering with his entrails spilled in the moss. Orell just saw how one of the other Browns grabbed him by the head and twisted his neck to put him out of his misery. Orell turned away and waited until the coughing and hacking was gradually silenced by one snap of a spine or wet stab at a time, then called back the Minions to properly count them. It was easy to tell two of the five Reds were dead, the Browns he had to count.   
„Eleven Browns and three Reds. If other attacks will have a similar toll, there will be no Minions left after three to four more attacks. Yerael, could we take a route even further away from the Sarul-Ras territory or maybe get them off our traces?“  
No answer.  
„Yerael?“  
 _Shit_.  
Orell turned to the root he had seen the elven guide ducking behind the last time. He was still there, one eye staring up into the canopy, the other turned into a bloody mess by the arrow sticking out of its socket. He was beyond saving. Orell felt a sting of grief, he did begin to like that elf. _Now he won't even see any magic_ , a stray thought crossed his mind.   
„Well, this is unfortunate, Sire. Without a guide and without a visible sun, orientation in this wretched forest will be a chore.“  
The grief quickly changed into anger. Orell wanted to snap at his advisor, but he was right and had the decency not to make any snide remarks about the elf this time. Rust, the Red who got along with Yerael the best, had survived the fight with an arrow wound on his arm and was now standing next to the elven guide's corpse, his ears hanging low and whimpering.   
Orell took a few deep breaths and let the anger fade away, he had to think clearly. They were now stranded in a dangerous forest full of giant predators, poisons and parasites and he didn't want to do any reckless decisions. Then he remembered something from the first day in the forest.  
„Burn the corpse. Burn all the corpses. The last thing we need is to have them being taken over by the brainslugs and attack us again.“  
  
„You know, Sire, even despite the dire situation, the smell is actually quite nice.“  
„For the Abyss Serpent's sake, shut up, Gnarl.“  
Orell and the Minions were tending to their wounds in front of a bonfire made of elven and brown Minion corpses, using it as a time for resting while preventing the fire potentially spreading across the forest, as unlikely as it might be with a layer of water-soaked moss covering nearly every surface. Gnarl had informed the Reds wouldn't burn as long as the magical energy hasn't seeped out of their bodies, so they had to resort to cut their bodies into pieces to make sure even if the remains were controlled by brain slugs they had no way of moving around. The bladders the Minions had removed from the Reds' corpses before cutting them up had been used to douse the body pile with liquid fire to set them all ablaze.  
Orell flinched when he heard another skull pop open in the fire. He almost wished he had decided to cut up and bury all the corpses along with the Reds, but he didn't want to imagine the sight of their companion Yerael to be dismembered, either.   
„Sire, I think they are well-done already. I suggest to extinguish the flames and move on, the elf did say that fires are an open invitation for the Sarul-Ras. I don't know why and to where they have retreated, but something tells me they will be back.“  
„And how exactly will I do it? Gather water in my helmet from the moss and pour it over?“  
„Much easier, actually. Your Reds can not only create, but also absorb fires. A very handy skill to get around burning barricades.“  
Orell did faintly remember the fight against the fire-bellied toads, where the Reds did extinguish several Browns that were set ablaze. How could he have forgotten that?  
A mental command to the three remaining Reds later, and he had a chance to refresh his memory again.   
„If you are finished, we can go now.“ Orell thought for a moment. „Canis... can your wolf help with keeping the direction we were originally going?“  
The marauder stared at Orell for a moment, then bent down to his wolf to whisper something into its ear. The wolf made several sounds, something between a whine and a growl, then Canis focused on Orell again and gave a short nod. He pointed slightly to the left, in the direction where several bright green stalked mushrooms were illuminating the coil of a snaking tree.  
With the guide being dead, the Minions were more alert than at the beginning and Orell picked it up as well. Without someone familiar with navigating this strange forest, everything could be a danger. Every unusual sound outside from the chirping of the birds in the canopy above made them stop to turn their heads into its direction and contact with the many animal-plants and mushrooms was avoided as much as possible. Orell silently cursed the Sarul-Ras and their arrows. A small part of him wanted to go back and follow the elven raiders, but the rest of him knew how stupid that was, even if he would have had access to the Gates. The only ones he could rely on were now Canis and his wolf. And his memories.  
What did Yerael say on the first night? Orell had to strain his mind.  
 _Move fast and silent, keep a good view on your surroundings, don't spook the animals_.  
All of this they were already doing. Canis was allowed to lead the group, with the wolf having its nose almost constantly at the ground.  
 _Listen around, as the birds tend to get quiet when something dangerous is close by. And listen for_ seliet _calls_.  
Orell remembered the way Yerael had imitated the call. A call that started out as a whistle, changing into a shriek. Like... like the call he was hearing right now, coming from the right.  
With a mental command, he ordered the Minions to stop. All of them immediately froze, exactly at the same time. The _seliet_ called again and a second one joined in. Had the Sarul-Ras returned to finish them off? Then, there was a deep bellow from the same direction.  
 _At least no Sarul-Ras_.  
He looked around to find a handy depression, trunk coil, bush or anything else to hide in, like Yerael always hid when something passed by. There was some shrubbery next to them, looking almost like normal bushes, save for the blue leaves. After a short order, the Minions ran to hide in the bushes, but just seconds after they entered, they jumped out yelling and scratching themselves like mad. Orell cursed his luck. He looked around for another cover, hopefully one without nettles. Then he froze, along with the Minions.   
The creature they had heard bellowing came into sight and it looked just as strange as it sounded. Tall as a horse, it walked on four pairs of brown, segmented legs and its head was a mass of tentacles that felt the way ahead. There were no eyes, ears or other familiar features to be seen. If the creature was blind... Orell mentally ordered the Minions to remain still and not make a sound, not that they actually needed this command. The tentacled creature closed in, feeling around the trunks of the snaking trees and the plant-animals, which retracted upon touch. Then one of the tentacles found its way to one of the Minions, a Brown who was hyperventilating from barely-contained panic. The tentacle slid over the Minion's chest and arm, then touched the Red standing next to him. Other tentacles came into contact with other Minions and a few felt up Orell's armour plates. The creature stopped and emitted a quiet warbling sound. Orell ordered the Minions to be alert, while his own hand slowly slid down to the sword hilt on his belt. The tentacle examining his left arm brushed over the amber gem embedded in the gauntlet. The creature suddenly shifted, several more tentacles reached out for the gem. Then the creature emitted another deafening bellow and retracted its tentacles from the amber gem, the Minions' equipment and out of one particularly unlucky Red's left nostril and turned to the right to walk into the direction Orell and the Minions came from. Some of the Minions started to scratch themselves again.  
„Well, that was odd,“ Orell heard Gnarl say. „While this walking seafood platter might have been just curious, don't expect the other beasts here to be similarly friendly.“  
„Then, aside from stating the obvious, you could actually help me. Can you say anything about navigating a forest or avoiding creatures? Anything about which plants are save to touch and which not?“  
„Not much, Sire, no. The forests the Overlords of old went through were usually smaller and not that twisted, and in case they were, they had a more _fiery_ approach when it came to crossing them. Of course, setting this forest on fire would be very counterproductive, since both you as well as your Minions are inside it with no Gate to get out. Aside from that, this forest seems to burn just as good as a slab of basalt does. It makes me wonder how the Aurenthurians plan to burn it down.“  
„Come to the point, Gnarl.“   
„The elf already said most of which I know myself. As for touching plants, most of them will have some kind of warning colour when they are poisonous. The same goes for animals.“  
Then Orell heard Gnarl shouting for Grime, then swearing at one of the Browns from the Throne Room to get his assistant. He, meanwhile, searched with the Minions for a path around an area covered in glowing slime strands hanging from the trees. The large-jawed worms squirming in the gelatinous mass covering the undersides of the trunks and branches didn't look like something he wanted to come into closer contact with.  
After the slime strands were left behind and Grime had arrived, Orell could hear how the assistant was sent off to scour the library for any books about forest survival.  
„And you think he will come back with any results in a timely manner?“  
„Maybe,“ Orell heard over the link. „ I will not guarantee much, most Overlords didn't concern themselves with such matters.“  
  
Orell and the Minions went on, fast, cautious, silent.  
It was impressive how Canis and his wolf apparently could keep their course, with the many detours they took around low snaking tree trunks and suspicious growths blocking their path and away from the sounds of creatures hiding somewhere in the foliage. Orell had lost track of both time and direction they went in long ago. Both were impossible to know in this dense forest with its unchanging light, unless he would climb to the top of one of the trees and peek through the canopy.   
But what worried him the most was the fact Yerael had described their destined path to the karst caves as a curve, in avoidance of the territory of the same wild elves that had killed the guide and a fourth of the Minion horde. There was no way he could tell the way to the caverns and the chances they would stumble into them were slim. The only hope Orell had in finding the hiding place of the Green Minions was sheer luck – another trail on the ground or the wolf picking up their stench. The only good part was that the blue-leafed bushes some of the Minions ran in didn't have any long-term ill effect.  
The wolf stopped sniffing and growled, ears flat on its head. Canis bent down and whispered something into its ear, then his ears went flat underneath the antlers as well.  
„What is it?“ Orell quietly asked.  
The answer came in the form of a multivoiced shriek from above.   
„Sire, under the roots!“  
The Minions, hearing the Shroud transmission as well, immediately shot under snaking tree roots and trunks, Orell followed them. With a strange, swelling rushing sound coming closer, this cover felt very insufficient. Canis' wolf barked, staring at an overhung, funnel-shaped depression which led into an obscured cave. Orell gestured to the wolf that it did good work, even if the animal didn't understand it. Canis surely would. Aside from the wolf and its rider, all of them managed to barely crouch into the depression when the rushing reached its climax and started to fade away. Only now did Orell realize the sound had come from massive wings. He cursed his own stupidity; the large flying creature couldn't pose a danger, as it was incapable of moving underneath the dense canopy of the Infected Forest. Between the glowing, pulsing tree giants, maybe, but certainly not here.  
And in a twist of irony, one of the Minions suddenly screamed and rolled over the ground. Something black and gleaming had wrapped itself around him, its hind body still sticking inside the cave in the depression. Cursing, Orell drew his sword, and the Minions, having recovered from the initial shock, began to clobber the attacking creature. There was a high-pitched shrieking to be heard, before the beast let go of the Minion, wildly twitching and attempting to escape. Canis pinned it to the ground with his spear, keeping it in place, where it succumbed to the attacks of the other Minions.   
Only when it stopped twitching, Orell recognized the animal as a giant centipede, looking oddly mundane in between the glowing, undefinable creatures inhabiting the Infected Forest. The Minion it had attacked got up from the ground, rubbing over two puncture wounds on his chest. The two corresponding claws visible on the bottom of the centipede's head appeared rather short and the bitten Brown seemed to be fine aside from the shock. Orell still asked, getting a nod as an answer. The Brown was even the one to extract the lifeforce from the carcass and hand it to his master. Gnarl grumbled something over the link, while Canis gave the centipede and its cave a sour stare.  
Their travel continued, interrupted by a welcome pause by a muddy but cool river, where they refilled the almost empty water bags and washed the filth from the fight with the centipede off. Gnarl pressured them to continue walking as soon as possible, since waterways were one of the best places to encounter unwanted wildlife. Gnarl's words were punctuated in a very convincing way, in the shape of an undulating bump in the water coming straight for them. It vanished in the moment the last of the Minions pulled his legs out of the water, but Orell immediately forgot his initial plans to cross the river and continue on the other side. Instead, he opted to walk upstream along the river.   
They had to sneak past a herd of foul-smelling, giant creatures that looked like slugs with legs rasping the foliage and moss off the snaking trees. Otherwise, they were thankfully spared from any unpleasant encounters for the time. Orell began to feel hungry, but without Yerael to say which of the fruit was edible and which wasn't, he avoided any experiments, trying to make out any plants he had tried before. The forest wasn't nice enough to show anything familiar, every fruit-bearing plant they passed by seemed to look wildly different from the ones encountered before. The Minions, meanwhile, were just doing the same they did on the days before, picking up small insects and occasionally catching rodent-like animals and eating them on the way. The current lack of larger creatures seemed to make them more bold again, as the group had spread out into a long row by the time.   
Orell ordered Canis at the lead and the few Minions next to him to stop. Then he used the callback command in the direction they had come from. Some Minions complied immediately, shooting out of the foliage and in between the snaking tree coils. Closely following were other, widely grinning Minions with their hands full of crawling insects or multicoloured fruit. But even with those having returned, there was still the feeling of one Minion not present. During the time of being around and commanding the Minions, Orell had already learned to interpret the stuffed feelings in his head the mental connection to them caused. And finally, the last Minion came into sight, stumbling, drooling and with a hazy glance in his eyes.  
Orell cursed under his breath when he saw the twin puncture wounds on the brown's chest, which were now swollen and oozing a mixture of blood and a clear fluid.  
„Sire, this was a venomous centipede. It is best when we leave this unfortunate bugger behind, he will only hinder your progress.“  
„Gnarl, are you crazy? There are no Gates to access and my Minions already got decimated by the Sarul-Ras. I will not leave anyone behind.“  
„Sometimes even Evil has to make sacrifices, Master. Having this sick Minion trailing behind, it will only slow the entire horde along with yourself down, making you an easier target for the ferocious fauna and frantic flora here. And the smell of blood would be an even greater invitation. The many will be better off without this one.“  
Orell crossed his arms. „I still decide who will be better off without whom. The Minion comes with me.“ With a mental command, he called another Brown to his side, a larger specimen with patchwork leather armour and a rusty sickle tied to his back.  
„You will support him.“  
The Minion complied with a grin, hooking his poisoned companion's arms over his shoulders.  
„Very well, Sire. I will get Mortis so he can offer any advice on treating centipede bites.“  
  
In the end, they had to stop and find a night's rest. Orell was hungry and tired, and the poisoned Minion's status got worse with time. He made Canis lead a bit away from the river, then they searched for a good place to spend the night. The hollowed trunk of a large fallen tree was chosen at the end, after careful examination of the interior revealed no potentially dangerous animals inside. Following a hint from Gnarl, Orell ordered the Minions to cut off and gather branches with foliage to close off the open end of the trunk, while he picked glowing mushrooms to use as a light source. The poisoned Brown was laid at the other end of the trunk, with the other Brown ordered to watch over him. At the time most of the Minions were outside to hunt and pick their dinner, Mortis spoke through the link.  
„The centipede bite must be cleaned and the area around it has to be generously warmed, Master.“  
„And that is all?“  
„There is not much else you can do. Centipede bites are mostly pain and little damage. Pain-killing herbs would be a great help, but it is not possible to send any through the Gates and I am not familiar with the mutated flora of this forest.“  
„Thanks, Mortis.“ With this, Orell took a last swig from his water bag and called the single Red to him who was not outside searching for food.  
„Heat up the water and wash out the poisoned Brown's bite wound.“ He tossed the water bag to the Red, who stared at him and the bag in confusion.  
„You heard me. But don't set fire to the wood. And don't make the water so hot the Brown burns himself.“  
With a confused stare and drooping ears, the Red walked away, deeper into the trunk.  
Orell, meanwhile, watched the other Minions return. They had collected all kinds of fruit and animals, which they were now scarfing up. Sometimes they bit into a fruit or insect, pulled a grimace and threw it away. The sight made almost his mouth water, regardless of the Minions' rather disgusting eating manners. He still wasn't trusting any of the fruit he saw being brought in, as he knew very well they were capable of eating things that would be most unpleasant for him. To distract himself, he began to unfasten his armour to clean it and check for parasites.  
Looking at the helmet he was scouring the inside of for anything that might have crawled in, Orell thought about how fine a cooking pot it would make. Turn it over to let it stand on its three prongs, with a little fire lighted underneath... He chased away these thoughts, this abuse of equipment would be ridiculous. Instead, he grabbed a discarded water bag next to him. At least the water with its weak fungal taste seemed safe enough to consume.   
„Gnarl, can you say anything about the edibility of all these fruits?“ Orell asked after he put the helmet back on.  
„Just don't trust fruit, Master. Anything with that colour and taste can't be trusted. I would rather recommend one of these fine glowing pillbugs, heh, the first thing I will do when the Gates are active again is to get me some of them down here.“  
Watching a Minion to bite one of the mentioned pillbugs in half with the brown innards dripping out of the part he still held in his hands, Orell scrunched his nose up. „In all honesty, these pillbugs look even less trustworthy than the fruit. You said yourself Minions eat all kinds of thing I wouldn't even dare to touch. What says these insects are different?“  
„By all respect, Sire, they are crustaceans, not insects. Like shrimps, or lobsters.“  
„I never liked shrimps or lobsters. And neither of them are glowing blue. If the choice is between potentially poisonous fruit and equally potentially poisonous crustaceans, I would rather wait for the Gate to become active again, even if it meant to eat mutton for the rest of my life.“  
Later that night, the Shroud was lying in the mulch while the helmet stood overturned underneath a small fire, invisible behind the leaves concealing the opening, the legs of a glowing pillbug cooking inside.


	11. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Orell STILL walks through the Infected Forest, meets some exciting new creatures, the exciting new creatures meet him as well (mostly on behalf of turning him and the Minions into their dinner), he loses sword #2 but gets a stinker in return, discovers the wonders of the Infected Forest's canopy, has an acid trip and gets into trouble with the resident elves. Meanwhile, Juno pervs up the private quarters with her massive imagination and Alderius plans something on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critique is always appreciated.

Early in the next morning, when Orell stepped out of the tree trunk to take a leak, he entered a world of white. Mist had engulfed the Infected Forest so densely it was even troublesome to make out one's own feet. The surroundings were all but invisible, only a few blurry blotches of colour indicating the presence of glowing mushrooms, even the sounds appeared to be muffled. While doing his business, Orell thought about how to progress. One option would be to wait inside the trunk until the mist dissipated, the other was to go now. Waiting was posing a risk, since sooner or later one of the forest creatures might be able to pick up their smell. But continuing now was also risky, since they would be walking nearly blind and Orell wasn't sure how well Canis and his wolf could navigate in the mist, as it somehow made the mouldy, decaying smell of the forest even stronger, elevating it to nearly suffocating levels.  
When he went into the trunk again, he had decided. Most Minions were already awake and eating the remains from the evening while some were standing up when he entered, as if to indicate they were ready. Orell walked past them and towards the blind end of the trunk cavity, where the poisoned Brown was lying.  
His state didn't look much better than yesterday, but at least he had survived the night. He was visibly in pain and the wound was still swollen and now covered in a layer of dried blood. The Brown who was designated as a support yesterday was lying next to him, snoring. Orell jostled him with his foot in the side and told him to get ready. Then he went to put on his armour that was lying in the mulch covering the ground.  
„Ah, good morning, Sire. What brings you to your feet this early?“ Gnarl immediately said after Orell donned the helmet.  
„The need to continue. It is misty at the moment, the sound is muffled and the smell of the fungi covers up everything. We won't be seen, heard or smelled.“  
He heard a yawn over the Shroud. „Yes, but neither can  _ you _ see where you are going. What if you fall off a cliff or stumble right into one of the giant creatures' maw?“  
„That is something that can easily happen without the mist.“  
„Right, right. But keep the river in hearing distance, we don't want you to walk in circles, after all.“  
  
The continued travel was like Orell had assumed. They were walking practically blind, with Canis and his wolf being at the lead and everyone else moving in a tight cluster behind, to prevent anybody from getting detached from the group and getting lost. The progress was slow due to the poisoned Brown being dragged along, but no one dared to complain. The Minions were unusually quiet, even for the Infected Forest. To compensate for the lost sight, everyone was busy listening, ears straight up and swivelling around into the direction of every peep, every creak. To the left side, they could hear the gurgling of the river, their only point of orientation.   
„Hm, seems like you were right, Master, not a single creature to be seen. If one could see through this soup, of course.“ Even Gnarl's voice seemed to be muffled by the mist.  
Orell took his time to climb over a particularly kinetic tree root before he answered. „Yes, and it's unusually quiet, too. As if the mist had put everything to rest...“  
„Be careful, in this strange forest this might be no ordinary mist, but something having more detrimental effects on you. There are tales of mists making you see things that aren't there, putting you to an eternal sleep or make you dance around stones naked,“ Gnarl warned.  
„I will tell you when I see any strange things or get an intense desire to undress. But so far it feels like regular mist to me.“  
Orell neither saw any strange things nor did he start to dance naked around stones. With the progress of the day, the mist slowly dissipated, allowing them to see further than just an arm's length. And with the receding mist, the creatures of the forest became more visible as well. The omnipresent glowing pillbugs were scuttling around, more active than usual, the leaf litter was crawling with multicoloured worms, and black dragonflies, appearing out of place in this world of strange creatures, were zipping through the air. Yet still, the forest remained unusually quiet. It was as if the large beasts have retreated to let the smaller creatures on the stage. Just as Orell thought about this question and asked himself if the mist was indeed not an ordinary mist, a slight wind went through the underbrush, carrying a foul stench with it.  
„In any other situation I would be disgusted, but this one is one of the few there I say this must be one of the best smells ever,“ Gnarl said. „I think we are on the trace of the Green Minions, Sire, tell Canis to follow the smell to its origin! Finally, our search has an end!“  
Orell forwarded the command to Canis. The wolf-riding marauder gave him a questioning look, then whispered something into his wolf's ear. Said wolf first whined and walked in a circle once, but then reluctantly went into a direction to the right, away from the river. They caught a few more gusts of air enriched with the foul smell on their way.  
Soon, the few gusts became a lingering, suffocating stench making it hard to breathe. It was like a giant pile of rotting fruit mixed with the Golden City's fisherman's district, rounded off with the mouldy smell of the forest itself which Orell already barely registered. Considering how desensitized to bad smells he got during his time in the Aurenthurian dungeons, he could only imagine how the Minions felt. The creatures were sometimes gagging, sometimes coughing and most were breathing through their mouths, but they still plodded on while the smell got only worse.  
  
They found the source of the stench on a clearing, where one of the giant trees must have fallen. Orell was too surprised to see sunlight again to pay attention to Gnarl's swearing, caused by the source of the smell not turning out to be the Green Minions.  
Distributed across the open field covered only in reddish grass blades, the same deformed roots he already saw on the field at the Infected Forest's border and colourful plant-animals far bigger than the ones within the forest was a herd of the giant walking slugs they had passed yesterday. They were barely visible in the harshly illuminated remains of the morning mist and in the myriads of the glittering wings of insects that filled the entire clearing in rotating swarms, but Orell could tell those were different from the ones seen before. These were bigger, coloured differently, and  _ smellier _ .  
“I am really getting fed up with this forest, Sire,“ Gnarl said after taking a few deep breaths following his last salve of swearing and then coughing from the smell of the slug creatures filtering through. „First the elves, then the centipedes, now creatures that manage to stink up against the Green Minions... Master, I suggest we will do what the Aurenthurian Parliament is indecisive on and burn this place down once our business is done here.“  
Orell ignored Gnarl's suggestion. With his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness and a sun to orient himself, he could see they were walking into a southeast or east direction, depending on the time. This would be a perfect place for a pause, weren't it for the giants grazing in it. The Minions were eyeing the slug creatures warily, which didn't pay any attention to them and continued rasping on the vegetation in the clearing. About as tall as two and a half men standing on each others' shoulders and supported by six pillar-like legs, they were mostly moving their long necks around to reach the plants with their tentacled heads, while their stilted eyes kept watch on their surroundings. Despite their slug-like appearance, they reminded Orell a bit of the large animals he had seen in an Aurenthurian market fair several years ago, shipped from the distant jungles of Verrikesh. 'Elephants', they were called, if his memory served him right. Their grey and yellow stripe pattern, however, was more similar to that of a boar piglet.  
„Sire, I will apologize for my previous words if it will help, just don't stand around here and slather the Throne Room with the stench of these beasts! The earlier we get out of their haze dome, the earlier we are able to follow the smell of more important matters.“ He wasn't sure if Gnarl wanted to say something else or not, since he then heard break the advisor out in a coughing fit.   
Orell began to pass through the clearing and enter the forest at the other side, since the small insects filling the air started to get inside his helmet through the visor, as one of the walking slugs emitted a trumpeting sound, getting the attention of the others. They stopped eating to look at it. Not wanting to walk past the creatures too close, especially since they were starting to get more active, Orell turned to the side to avoid the clearing altogether.  
Inside the forest, Orell regretted his decision. Going over and under the erratically-growing trunks, roots and branches of the snaking trees and the sun having vanished behind the foliage again, it didn't take long until he lost all orientation he had. Worse yet, the lingering stench of the slug creatures made it impossible for Canis' wolf to find the invisible trail they were following towards the karst caves. He was sure he had walked past a very characteristic-looking bean-shaped plant-animal for the third time.   
And then they ended up in front of the slug creatures again, which were now walking through the forest themselves.   
„Well, great. It looks like you just can't escape their smelliness. Sire, why don't you ignore the way to the caverns for once and  _ just get out of their stench radius _ ?“  
„I honestly don't know into what direction the escape from their stench radius will get me,“ Orell replied. „I could very well end up in Sarul-Ras territory, which would be far worse than these slugs.“  
„Then I suggest to take a pause and wait until they and their smell go away. Your poisoned Minion could use a bit of time to recuperate himself.“  
Just as Orell wanted to move aside from the slug creature herd, a voice he hadn't heard in a while shouted through the Shroud.  
„Sire! Sire! Stay with the slugs!“ Orell could hear Grime on the other side. He was surprised both by the sudden appearance of the assistant as well as by his strange suggestion. Gnarl was similarly surprised and showed it through his way.  
„Grime, have the slugs from the forest eaten your brains and then shat into your skull? Why, by the Mother Goddess' nipples should the Overlord follow a bunch of bumbling molluscs?“  
Ignoring Gnarl's curses and insults directed at the assistant's outlandish suggestion, Orell asked what he meant.  
„Slugs need chalk to survive, they could very well be walking to the limestone you are heading to. If you follow them, they would lead you straight to your destination.“  
„Hmm,“ Gnarl said. „Hm, you could be right this time, Grime, this idea could come almost from me. And, Master, did you notice how not a single of the big animals were around as you were in the slugs' proximity? I have the feeling their awful smell repels any predators, which would make your travel a lot less dangerous, even if I would prefer a few good fights over the constant smell. Grime, go get me some wet cloths, I don't want to be stunk to death here!“  
  
And so, their travel continued in the wake of a herd of six-legged, stinking slugs while the morning mist dissolved itself into a few random wisps close to the ground. They were easy to follow, both because they moved slow and left a very noticeable trail in the underbrush, and because the yellow stripes turned out to pulse with light in the darkness of the forest in specific patterns. Their slowness was, despite Gnarl's complains, a good thing, as the poisoned Minion's state progressively worsened. Where he was still able to walk by himself yesterday, now his legs regularly gave away under him, resulting in the other Brown assigned as a support dragging him over the ground.  
The state of the poisoned Minion worried Orell. Despite having tended to the bite wound yesterday the way Mortis had instructed, it didn't seem to help. Maybe the Red messed it up and Orell would have done it himself. Maybe the centipede in question was a normal centipede on the outside, but something different on the inside, so its venom worked differently. Either way, losing yet another Minion additionally to the fourth of the horde being killed by the Sarul-Ras attack worried him. But the thing that seemed to worry him even more was the fact that if the Brown died, Gnarl would have gotten it his way in the end.  
The other Minions, having discarded their initial wariness from the giant slugs and been reassured by Gnarl's words that the proximity to their foul smell meant no danger from suddenly attacking monsters, were almost back to the usual demeanour Orell knew from them during their time in Nordberg. They were lively and giggling again, some particularly brave or stupid were walking right in between the legs of the slug creatures, which still didn't acknowledge their presence. The worst thing around were the swarms of small insects that weren't left by the slugs in the clearing, but remained buzzing around the creatures and now around the Minions and Orell as well. Much to his dismay, some of them were bloodsuckers and it was incredibly annoying to get them out of his armour once they had flown inside.  
With hunger and curiosity having gotten over caution, Orell had picked a few sausage-shaped black fruit that grew directly on the root of a snaking tree and carefully tried one of them, watching for any strange tastes or signs of numbness. Looking at the ground in thought, he noticed a greenish rock sticking out of the ground. Then another greenish rock, this time suspended in the air by a snaking tree trunk, which apparently had been a root at some point.  
„Sire, I think Grime was right for once. Those are limestone rocks, we are indeed nearing our goal!“  
Orell grinned under his helmet, then he quickly took it off to spit out one of the fruit which had turned out to be a very similar-looking but foul-tasting fungus.  
  
The calmness of their travel came to a sudden end, as it turned out the stench of the slugs drew away most of the larger predators, but not all.   
The first indication that something else was close were the creaking noises, sounding almost like the everpresent creaking of the snaking trees, but somehow off. The Minions noticed it first, raising their ears and looking around, while Canis' wolf stared intently to the right, making a humming noise.  
Slightly alarmed, Orell looked into the same direction the wolf was staring at, trying to make out something unusual in between the foliage, but he couldn't see anything. Assuming it was just a bird or an insect the wolf had sensed, he focused on the way ahead.  
All of a sudden, the foliage to the right exploded in a shower of leaves, splinters and startled pillbugs, and an indiscernible, writhing mass of tentacles crashed into the side of one slug creature walking in the rim of the herd, pushing it into one of its herdmates. The Minions that have been walking in between the slug creatures scattered in a panic to prevent themselves from being crushed; Orell registered in between the bellowing of the slugs, the ear-splitting shrieks of the attacker and Gnarl shouting to get moving at once that at least one of them was not successful. He was staring at the scene in stunned silence for a few moments, then he just ran after the Minions, away from the stampeding slug creatures and their strange attacker.   
He shook his head. Despite him having had clear view of the tentacled creature, he couldn't wrap his head around it. It had appeared like the shape of the creature was constantly changing, and even the memory of its rapidly flashing colours made his head hurt. It was as if the creature didn't want to be properly seen.  
When the slug creatures and its attacker had vanished behind several layers of snaking trees and their shrieks weren't as ear-splitting any more, Orell made the mental command for the Minions to return to him. Canis and a few others appeared immediately, others he could hear calling out their positions before they came running out of the underbrush to his side, and the rest showed up a bit later. When Orell was sure they were all by his side again, he took a quick look at the horde. Only the one Minion crushed by the slugs had been lost.  
„Well, that went better than expected,“ Gnarl said after swearing at Grime for letting his master follow the slug creatures so closely, completely forgetting it was him who suggested the smell warded off predators. „I wouldn't want a fight with that thing, even looking through the Shroud at it felt like being clobbered with cacti by a horde of drunken gnomes, eugh. But at least the stinking slugs brought us close enough to our destination, now if you tell Canis to follow the route the slugs were walking in, we could- look out!“  
Orell immediately shot a glance into the direction the battle between the slugs and the tentacle mass was raging on, all the Minions being called to attention as well. He saw a strange creature strutting out of the underbrush, looking at them as if there was no fight close by. It was goose-sized, arthropod-like, resembling a mixture of a rhinoceros beetle and a scorpion, with a spiky top of the head and equally spiky tail, but its behaviour most closely resembled that of a puppy. It looked at Orell and the Minions with two pairs of large, black eyes and squawked.  
„Aww, look at it, Sire. If I would ever want a puppy that is not roasted and destined for dinner, I would want one of those,“ Gnarl said.   
Orell still stared at the creature sceptically. The reactions of the Minions to seeing this ranged from adoration to fear. Then, a second creature stepped out of the underbrush, followed by a third coming from the left. Orell placed his hand on the sword's hilt as more and more of them appeared. Something was horribly wrong with their affectionate behaviour.  
He was right with his guess as the sword came soon into need to defend himself from one of the creatures. Their affectionate behaviour was nothing but a decoy to encircle Orell and the Minions, and as soon as they were in position, they had attacked all at once.   
Having thrown off the creature that had jumped on him, Orell kicked another one aside that was attempting to bite a Minion next to him. 'Biting' was probably not the right word, as it turned out the head and tail worked like a pair of secondary jaws. The creature tumbled away unharmed, got up with a slight stagger, then lunged at another Minion close by. At the same time, Orell had to defend himself against another one of the creatures that had latched itself onto his right arm. He felt the metal creaking and bending under the pressure of the creature's whole-body jaws. Since his sword arm was blocked, he had to bash the creature against a tree trunk to get it off, but he dropped his sword in the process as well. Orell barely managed to pick it up before another creature hung off his leg and made him stumble into a group of bright pink plant animals that retracted their feathered tentacles upon touch. A stab with the sword slid off the creature's carapace, resulting in the tip sinking into the ground dangerously close to Orell's foot. Upon this, he grabbed the sword by the blade and smashed the crossguard into the creature's side. It flew off his leg shrieking, leaving a trail of yellow blood behind.   
Orell stumbled out of the underbrush and towards the Minions, which were faring hardly better. While their preference to blunt weapons and surprising strength for their size allowed them to crack carapaces left and right, and the shield-carriers did their best in protecting the vulnerable Reds, it were simply too many for them. Several lay on the ground motionless, one of the shield-carrying Browns had an arm so heavily mangled Orell doubted the Minion could ever use it properly again. His crossguard flung off another creature that was attempting to get at a downed Red's throat, but then Orell was nearly thrown to the ground as well as one of the creatures jumped on his back, digging its false jaws into the red scarf hanging off his shoulders.  
This fight was futile.  
„Retreat!“ Orell shouted, additionally to the mental command calling the Minions to his side, and made off through the tangles of the snaking trees, into the direction leading away from the place the slugs had been attacked, which had gone silent by now. The Minions kicked off their attackers, often for worse than better, and followed suit. A considerate Brown knocked the creature that was still mauling Orell's scarf off his back, a second strike by a different Minion silenced it. From behind, he could hear the chittering of the creatures pursuing them.  
„Master, I take back what I said about wanting one of those. These things are despicable, and not in the good way.“  
Orell soon wasn't sure if running was such a good idea. While the chittering didn't grow louder and he didn't hear any screams from attacked Minions behind him, neither did it grow quieter. His armour rattled like a halfling kitchen, probably alarming half of the Infected Forest of his presence, and the additional weight of it made his legs hurt so soon he felt reminded of his state upon leaving the Golden City's dungeons.   
To his luck, the need to run away came soon obsolete. To his misfortune, it was because they reached a cliff they couldn't see because of the thick foliage obscuring its ledge. Orell flew off it first, with the Minions tumbling right after him. His scream was ended when he smacked face-first into the cap of a green-glowing mushroom, which he rolled off and fell onto the cap below. His sword fell out of his hands and into another mushroom cap where it got stuck, while Orell took the other direction off the mushroom, further down, onto other mushrooms, over protruding rocks cushioned deeply with a layer of moss and through tangles of vines, all of them slowing his fall so when he finally fell into the sand bank in front of the river flowing at the chasm's bottom, he wasn't injured, aside from a spinning head. Left and right, the Minions came tumbling down, in various states of disorientation.  
Orell rolled onto his back and only got into a sitting position after several seconds, to calm his head first before he would try to get up. Some of the Minions were already walking around, their faces bearing expressions of varying degrees of pain or displeasure, some of them were sitting in the moss or sand like Orell, others were still lying dazed on the ground, but surprisingly, all of them had survived the fall. Or at least those Orell could immediately see. Counting through the horde, he asserted that four have died, either in the attack on the slugs, by the walking jaws right after or maybe even during the fall into the chasm. A familiar sight made him snort in a mixture of amusement, relief and annoyance; the poisoned Brown somehow managed to survive all of this, stumbling after his support who was now busy plucking flea-like insects out of the moss and eating them.   
„Are you alive, Sire?“ Gnarl's voice added to the ringing in Orell's ears.  
„I wouldn't answer you if I weren't. But now I'm off track,“ he looked up the chasm's walls with squinted eyes, „and disarmed.“  
„That is bad, Master. While your sword is done, we have no means to transport it to you. The Gates are still not working, and even from here I can smell the presence of mandelite.“  
„Do you think the Gates will work on a place without disturbed energy flows already?“  
„Yes. But right now, there are only two directions for you to go in, and I will say you go upstream, since that's most likely where the karst caves and with them the Greens are located at.“  
  
Somehow, the chasm managed to be even darker than the rest of the Infected Forest. There was no sunlight to speak of, the entire illumination coming from the large green mushrooms growing on the chasm's walls. Occasionally, it got a little bit brighter, whenever one of the elongate, multi-winged creatures passed above their heads. The Minions, fully aware that their master was disarmed, formed a ring around Orell, cautiously staring into the directions of the muffled, distorted sounds reaching the chasm's bottom and at any suspicious forms.   
And there were many suspicious forms hidden in the darkness. Most of the forms turned out to be mandelite growths poking out of the chasm's walls, which the overprotective Minions soon found out, others were the deformed bones littering the ground, seemingly washed together by the stream. Out of the few moving forms they encountered, most were overlarge insects, or crustaceans, Orell couldn't really tell the difference. But none of them were aggressive, preferring to flee up the walls, into holes or into the river to their left instead. Orell feared the loud gritting of the white sand beneath their feet would attract bigger creatures, but it seemed like the inside of the chasm was populated exclusively by the smaller inhabitants of the Infected Forest.   
He was proven wrong when a group of large creatures that looked like long-tailed, heavily-armoured birds without wings passed through, walking into the opposite direction. Their loud honking noises had given away their position long ago and the small, blunt teeth in their hooked beaks suggested they were plant eaters. Orell still didn't want to take any risks, so he moved away from the river as far as he could, pressing his back into the nearly arm-thick layer of moss on the chasm's walls to let them pass through. Even if they most likely wouldn't try to eat him or the Minions, the massive spikes covering their tails were not something he wanted to get acquainted with if the birds would perceive him as a threat.  
Orell didn't know for how long they were following the river, as in this world of darkness, faint green light and distorted, echoing sounds coming from the distance his feeling for time got even more inaccurate. They could have been in there for mere minutes or several hours. The feeling in his legs suggested the latter.  
He decided to rest soon after the encounter with the birds, since he did spot something familiar growing on the trunk of a snaking tree that climbed across the chasm's walls. It were the large, blue-glowing fruit he had eaten first when entering the forest, back then when Yerael was around to tell which fruit were edible and which were not. Orell attempted to knock some of them down by throwing pieces of driftwood or bones at them, until some of the Minions decided to climb the roots and began to pluck the fruit off the trunk and threw them down into the sand. Nearly half of the fruit covering the trunk were gone after they had finished and were on their way again.  
The state of the poisoned Brown didn't improve. While he was still able to walk at least for some time before, he started to enter a delirious state now, forcing the Minion assigned as his support to load him onto his back and drag him along all the time. The support was visibly annoyed by the task and Orell was seriously starting to contemplate in leaving the Minion behind. Only a wonder could now save him.  
The support's grumbling soon spread over to the other Minions, accompanied by whining and other expressions of displeasure. All because Orell had found a divergence in the chasm, one in which he could recognize more light in the distance. The only problem was that this divergence inserted at the other side of the stream.  
„Stop whining, you cowardly hairballs, the water isn't even knee-deep!“ Gnarl shouted through the Shroud, after having had a discussion with Orell whether it would be better to stay in the chasm or get out of it. The grumbling and whining only grew louder. Orell tried to shut out Gnarl's shouting while he looked around, trying to make out an especially flat part of the river, fallen trunks, roots or anything else that could be used as a bridge. Not having any success in finding such things nearby, he stepped into the stream, faltering shortly after the cold water got into his boots and walked to the other shore.  
„You either come or you can stay there,“ Orell said after he shook the water out of his boots.  
The speed with which the Minions suddenly ran through the water surprised even Gnarl.  
  
Indeed, the light at the end of the chasm turned out to be an exit. They had to wind through several massive skeletons lying across the riverbank and then they were out in the Infected Forest's dim blue light again.   
„That these scorpion monsters might suffocate on a sheep's-“ The rest of Gnarl's swearing was cut short by a piercing shriek from the snaking tree canopy, making everyone look up in the search for a new threat. It turned out to come from a swarm of insect-winged bird creatures that had perceived  _ them _ as a threat instead and were now flying around between the branches, away from Orell and the Minions.  
„Falling into that chasm brought you further off track than I thought,“ the advisor continued in a much quieter voice. „I can see only slate and mandelite, but not a single trace of limestone.“  
„And I have no clue into what direction we are walking,“ Orell added. Fleeing from the scorpion creatures and the winding course through the chasm threw off the last remains of orientation he had. They could very well be close to the elven village the Infected Forest had been entered from and he wouldn't be able to tell. „Canis?“  
The wolf and its rider both perked their ears.  
„Can you pick up the trail again? Find a way to the limestone?“  
Canis whispered something into his wolf's ears, who sniffed the ground, here and there, turned around two times while whining, then looked around with its head low. In response, the Minions began to murmur.  
„Wolfie can't find way,“ one of the Browns said with drooping ears, just as Orell was about to ask Gnarl what the wolf's gestures meant.  
„Great. So, let me recall, we are completely off track, have no clue where we are and no real possibility to go back on track. What do you suggest in this situation, mighty advisor?“  
„Going at random. Of course, Sire, you could go back into the chasm and follow the stream instead, but now since I can see the rocks the chasm is made of, the chance to end up in the karst isn't as great as I have initially thought,“ Gnarl replied. „I need an overview of the bigger surroundings first to tell where the limestone might be.“   
Just as Orell was commanding the Minions to follow again, Gnarl added: „Or we go and find some of the walking slugs and let them lead us again, but we both know how that ended up.“  
  
_ This search for the Greens is getting more and more frustrating _ , Orell thought. First a Sarul-Ras attack that not only killed a fourth of his Minions, but the guide as well, then an attack by the local fauna, leading not only to the deaths of another fourth, but the loss of his weapon as well, and now they have gone so off-track that even their last hope to have any orientation has given up. No track, no weapon and his horde decimated to the half of its initial size. With all which he had gone through in the last few days, this was the first time Orell seriously wondered if he would be able to make it out of this forest alive.  
It was probably after a few hours of wandering when Orell and the Minions entered the third type of vegetation the Infected Forest consisted of, and it was certainly the strangest. It started with the occasional fluffy ball of mould growing on a snaking tree trunk or on the moss layer covering the ground, but gradually, the presence of these balls got more and more noticeable. First, Orell tried to discourage the Minions from touching the mould clusters, but soon he had to give up. They were simply everywhere.  
The mould balls were not his biggest concern soon, when he left the last deformed and stunted snaking tree behind. Gnarl's comment about it looking like inside of an over-sized, well-filled and then forgotten bread box described the strange landscape he was now standing in the best. Rather than trees, the vegetation consisted of bizarre shapes, something between gnarly driftwood, rock formations and the inside of a sponge. On these formations grew a multitude of different shapes of fungi, some of them reaching sizes tall enough a haruk could hide under. And all of it was more or less covered with a layer of mould, making it appear like a recent snowfall had graced the forest. After being under the snaking tree canopy with its multitude of bird voices and the calls of strange creatures, it was disturbingly quiet here, the only sounds seemingly coming from the plant-animals, which were more present and diverse than elsewhere. Even the otherwise everpresent glowing pillbugs were absent, replaced by swarms of tiny midges instead.  
The Minions looked around with worry on their faces, having grown silent in this mouldy part as well. Even the Reds stopped coughing.  
„Just try not to touch anything that can be avoided,“ Orell said to them. But by the look of the Minions, most of them looked like they were more eager to eat their own limbs rather than poking the flora. He walked onwards, each step kicking up a cloud of spores from the mould.  
The dominating white colour of the landscape and the silence were the worst. While Orell told himself they were relatively safe from larger predators due to the silence making every suspicious sound noticeable from a far distance and the ground's mould cover making the trails of every creature visible that passed by hours, maybe even days ago, it were indeed the pall-like mould and the silence themselves that made him feel uneasy.   
Accordingly, he spun around fast enough that he nearly slipped on the crushed mould layer he was standing on when he heard a Minion scream behind his back. Fortunately, it was not from an attack or a trap of carnivorous fauna or even flora, the Minion in question just broke into a cavity in the ground. The other Minions started to laugh at their brethren's misfortune, but quickly grew silent and pulled him out of the hole. Orell frowned when he looked at the cavity. He was glad no one was injured, but if there were more of such holes, invisible under the mould layer, the trip might soon end up in twisted ankles and broken legs.  
„Interesting,“ Gnarl commented the sight. „It seems like this part of the forest is the most recently infected one, as if the first step of the Infected Forest into Evernight was by first covering everything in mould, let it rot and then let its own brand of trees grow over the remains.“  
„Don't you see it?“ he continued while Orell took a closer look at the cavity. With Gnarl talking about it, the Minions began to stare at the hole, too. „This is the hollowed-out trunk of one of the Evernightian trees, and of an important one at that. It was once a goldbirch, a tree sacred to the elves, the golden wood is unmistakable. Hehe, when the Gates work again, I will get some samples of the mould to spread it on Everlight, oh, the entertainment that would provide!“  
„Gnarl, you have said a very similar thing about the scorpion things already,“ Orell reminded him. „And no spreading of strange fungi or anything else without my permission. One Infected Forest is bad enough, I don't want to alter any places... what in the-!“  
The sudden shriek coming from behind made Orell and all the Minions turn around to its source. In the same moment, something small shot from behind a deformed, mushroom-covered growth in a cloud of spores and torn-off caps to vanish behind the formation on the other side of the path. This something had a green colouration, looking very off in these white-dominated surroundings.  
Before it dawned to Orell what he had just seen, the formation to the left exploded. With a rasping squawk, a muscular mass of colourful feathers and glistening scales shot after the first creature in hot pursuit, as quick out of sight as it came.   
„Master, this is a basilisk! And it's hunting one of your Green Minions! Quick, after it!“  
Orell's legs followed Gnarl's unusually commanding tone before his brain had fully processed what he had just seen and heard.  
He had found the Greens, in a place he had expected them to find least. Along with something he never wished to have to deal with from a close distance.  
Out of all the bizarre and mutated fauna he had seen so far, basilisks were the first which he was actually familiar with. They were nearly horse-sized beasts, half bird, half salamander, living in thick forests with lots of poisonous plants around. It was no wonder they would feel at home here. They were also vicious predators. Despite having a venomous bite, they rarely bothered to use it, preferring their massive, serrated beaks to cut open the ribcage and tear out the lungs of their still-living prey instead. This was a fate he certainly didn't want to befall the Green Minion this basilisk was hunting now.  
The mould turned out to be a godsend now. The tracks of the basilisk in the white layer were so easy to follow that Orell and the Minions didn't have to slow down their run to track it. And even if they would have lost it, the angry squawks ahead would have still led them to their destination.  
They found out the reason for the basilisk's anger very soon; the Green managed to save himself on a giant branched mushroom, just out of the reach of the jumping and snapping beast. It ignored Orell and the Minions completely, maybe it didn't even register their presence in its attempts to get its designated prey.  
Due to the lack of a weapon, there was nothing else to do for Orell than to command the Minions forwards into an attack. The Browns reached the creature first, before it managed to respond to the sudden wave of assailants jumping its back. The basilisk's legs gave away under the weight of the Browns, but it kicked its attackers away and rose as quickly as it had fallen. It snapped up one of the Browns with its beak, but luckily, it didn't proceed to tear his chest open, simply flinging him away. There were too many Minions for the basilisk to fight to kill each of them individually.   
None of the Browns tried to jump it again, instead they focused on hacking at the basilisk's legs. In turn, the creature danced and jumped around, beating its short, clawed wings to keep balance while kicking and snapping at the Minions. The two Reds were standing around with fireballs burning in their hands, unsure what to do; the basilisk moved too erratic for them to risk a shot and accidentally hit one of the Browns instead.   
Orell heard a piercing shriek and the sound of a bone snapping when one of the Browns was flung against one of the sponge-like growths. He needed a tactic to fight the basilisk, otherwise it would just keep jumping around until the Minions would be too injured to battle it. He called the Browns back and allowed the Reds to open fire on the creature. The basilisk, confused by the suddenly fleeing Browns for a moment, was hit by several fireballs. The fire didn't seem to have any effect, however; the burning fuel splattered and flowed off the basilisk's plumage like water off a duck. The creature jumped aside to avoid the fire splattering onto its scaly legs and squawked in a tone Orell would have described as mockery.  
He cursed under his breath and gave the mental command for the Browns to attack again. Then he cursed again, loudly.  
The basilisk, in its avoidance of the splattering fire, stepped onto a bulbous mushroom, which erupted in a brown cloud of of spores. This cloud became a cloud of fire the next second, startling the basilisk and scaring the Browns into scattering.  
„Sire, this is the solution! Drive the basilisk to the bovists and blow them up with the Reds! Wait, what in the Forgotten God's third nipple are you doing!? ...Yes, that works, too, Master.“  
Orell had overheard Gnarl's talking and figured out a different solution to the problem at the same time. Instead of getting the basilisk to the mushrooms, he got the mushrooms to the basilisk, commanding some of the stronger-looking Browns to pick up and throw the bovists at it, while the Reds pelted the creature and the spore clouds surrounding it with fire. Disoriented and singed, the basilisk stumbled against the mushroom the Green was sitting on and watching the spore explosions in horror. With the Reds told to hold their fire, Orell ordered the Browns to attack again, which they eagerly complied. This time, when the Minions jumped the basilisk and brought it to the ground, it didn't get up again.  
Orell attempted to ignore the horde of Minions scavenging the carcass and fighting over the prettiest handfuls of feathers as he walked towards the mushroom with the Green on it. He looked pretty much like the ones that got Orell out of the dungeons, save for his attire. While the Minion wasn't wearing a lot, the pieces of mushroom leather, exoskeleton parts and vine fibres were all products from the Infected Forest.  
„Stranger?“ the Minion whispered, barely audible, his face bearing an expression of bewilderment.  
Orell's face took on nearly the same expression as the Green's. Why didn't the Minion recognize him? „I'm not a stranger. Me and the other Minions helped you, after all. You can come down now.“ The Green took his eyes off Orell and onto the bunch of Reds and Browns taking the basilisk carcass apart. One of the Browns, which he could recognize as one of those he ordered to throw the bovists, just finished to carve the creature's head and put it onto his own head as a hat, chucking the frying pan he had worn before to the side. A fight between two smaller Browns broke out over the pan immediately.  
„You horde leader of these not-Greens?“  
„Yes, in a way I am.“  
Tentatively, the Green climbed down the mushroom stalk, the sceptical expression still remaining. Orell wasn't sure what to think of this. All Minions he had seen so far were so eager to serve it was almost disturbing, but this one was clearly different. He stepped forward, but the Green moved back, away from him, always maintaining a distance of about two meters.  
„What kind of behaviour around your Master is this?“ Gnarl shouted. The rest of the transmission Orell decided to ignore, as it consisted mostly of insults, held together by so few descriptive words he had trouble making out what the meaning of the sentences actually was.  
„Do you know the way to the other Greens? Can you lead me to them?“ Orell asked.   
The Green first stared at him silently. Orell began to suspect this was a lone marauder, one that was separated from the Hive and the other Minions accompanying it. Then, the Green turned his head to the side.  
Just yet, separated by the chase after the basilisk, the poisoned Brown was being dragged over the crushed layer of mould by the grumbling support. First, Orell thought the Minion had finally died, but the hacking breaths and cloudy eyes rolling around and trying to focus on anything without success told something else. The support let go of the delirious Minion and ran over to the Basilisk carcass, trying to get some of the remains. At the same time, the Green ran over to the left behind Brown.  
The Green looked all over the poisoned Minion, turned him on his back and pressed his hands against the swollen, oozing bite marks. Orell looked on with fascination when wispy green light began to travel over the Green's arms, glowing ever brighter, then suddenly stopping. The Green took his hands off the Brown, who suddenly raised his head and looked around.  
„Well, Sire, looks like the centipede victim did survive in the end. Still, was all that hassle to bring him here worth it?“ Gnarl spoke.  
„What just happened?“  
„Your Green Minions are not only immune to all known and unknown poisons, they also have the ability to neutralize them. In this regard, they are like unicorns, only with less sparkliness and fawning little girls but more stench and filth. Besides, those horny merry-go-round ponies would never follow your commands like a Minion would do.“  
Speaking of Minions, Orell took a look at his current horde, something he did with an increasing frequency. One Brown was clutching his arm with a pained expression, another one had a painful-looking bite wound on the shoulder, several others were covered with smaller gashes. One of the shield carriers had gotten his shield snapped in two. The bitten one was off the worst, but at least the Green would be able to remove any poisons, if the basilisk had administered some.  
„And?“ He drew the attention of the Green again. „Can you lead us to the other Greens?“  
This time, the Minion nodded as a reply. 

At least they left the white silence of the fungal grove in a timely manner, being engulfed by the noisy, glowing darkness of the snaking tree forest once more. With the Green at the lead, it almost felt like the beginning of the travels through the Infected Forest with Yerael again. The Minion wove a complicated path through the forest, under trunks and over roots, through thick undergrowth and away from the sounds of bellows or heavy footsteps in the distance. But even if the travel got as secure as with the elven guide from Alrenvel, the problem with the food still remained.   
Interestingly, the other Minions weren't as confiding to the new member of the horde as they had gotten with the elf. They seemed to avoid him. Orell assumed it was the smell, even if he was hardly able to register it in the forest's mouldy reek. And even if the forest hasn't numbed his sense of smell, the time in the lowest parts of the dungeons certainly had. But the Minions had been steaming in the forest just as long as himself, and he suspected the Green's smell was not the sole reason the other Minions preferred to maintain a greater distance than necessary, possibly the same reason that had nestled into Orell's thoughts and bugged him as much as the small blood-sucking midges crawling into the cracks of his armour...  
„Gnarl, why do you think did the Green react like that?“ Orell asked after he had let himself fall back a bit, hopefully out of said Green's hearing range. „He didn't recognize me, yet he is not alone.“  
„He is not a Hiveborn,“ came the reply in a voice dripping with revulsion.  
„Not a what?“  
„Let me elaborate, Master. Usually, new Minions are created by imbuing their Hives with the respective lifeforce, creating subservient attendants in a quick, effective, but not exactly clean manner. Now, when two of such Minions of different genders like each other enough, the male will put...“  
„Gnarl, no details please!“ Orell quickly said before his mind could conjure up images he would have trouble to get rid of later.  
„...Essentially, this particular Green was created by the same processes as ordinary sheep are. And like a sheep, he has no clue about what an Overlord is, either. Our best hope is that the leader of the bunch is a survivor of your predecessor's reign, that would be the best way to keep the Minions produced in the same manner as this one under control.“  
The procession had stopped. Orell looked ahead to see the reason and nearly groaned when he did.  
All Minions, including the Green, were staring at him, forming a path to the base of a thick snaking tree's trunk, overgrown with a multitude of thinner climbing plants and moss, disrupted by patches of leathery lichen. A trail up the trunk, along the parts with the thickest covering of twiners, was devoid of such a cover, showing their well-polished bark.  
They had to climb now.  
Orell felt like one of the glowing pillbugs, only that this pillbug was drunk and lacked most of its legs. He had tremendous luck since the snaking tree trunk they were going up was inclined, otherwise he wouldn't be able to get up at all. This way, he only tore down half of the vines and nearly fell off twice. The moment he was standing on a halfways horizontal part of the tree trunk, he ordered the Minions to stop.  
„Sire, what are you doing?“  
„Making myself more suitable for this trip,“ he replied when he took off the left boot and handed it to one of the Browns.  
„Might I remind you that this forest isn't the safest place to walk around barefoot? Even on this tree, the moss is thick enough to hide snakes, centipedes, spiky critters and noxious plants.“  
„It's still more safe than slipping and breaking my neck in the fall. The footwraps will suffice for the moment.“  
„But why taking off the pauldrons, too? You are not walking on your shoulders.“  
„Gnarl, I wish you were here,“ Orell said sarcastically. „Then you would know that every amount of flexibility is needed to get around on these trees.“  
„And what if something is going to attack?“  
„Then I fall off the trunk to my death. Which is something I would do when fully armed, too.“  
Gnarl replied with an unintelligible grumbling.  
The Green who led the procession along the tree trunk turned around. „Isn't far,“ he grinned. „No need to worry.“  
Without half the armour weighing him down and limiting his movements, following the Green was much easier. The boots, pauldrons and other removed pieces were carried by a Minion each, tied to their backs on strings made of plant fibres. Yerael had shown how to extract these fibres from a very common kind of climbing plant, which the Minions picked up quickly, using the fibres to repair their equipment and making the transport of supplies much more comfortable. The additional weight they had to carry wasn't bothering them; they went along the winding trunk, climbed the more vertical parts and went over the bridges built from living twiners connecting nearby trunks with ease. The danger of falling off seemed to bother nobody, since there was always a trunk, mushroom stalk or vine in hand's reach to be used as a support. The only few having problems with moving around through the trees were the Brown still recovering from the centipede bite, the one with the mangled arm and Canis' wolf. The latter was often loaded by his rider over the shoulders during the steeper parts, something that seemed to amuse the other Browns to no end. Even the wolf seemed to be aware of how ridiculous this looked.  
Not worrying about slipping on the moss and mushrooms covering the trunk or the parts exposing the treacherously smooth bark made Orell pay more attention to the surroundings again. If the forest close to the ground was teeming with life, the canopies were a step-up. The cacophony accompanying them throughout the forest was now coming from all sides and much louder, once they were more close to the sources. Many of these sources they were now able to see as well. Birds, both ordinary-looking animals and stranger creatures with two pairs of leathery wings, long hairy tails or without distinguishable heads, were flying in between the trunks and branches, away from the giggling and coughing Minions. Swarms of insects were dancing around the caps of large, long-stilted mushrooms, one of the swarms deciding to dance around Orell's head for some time instead, much to his annoyance.   
The glowing pillbugs were scarce up there, but the tree trunks were not at all unpopulated. There were large, mottled lizards with flattened tails that resembled overlarge leaves, moths that were nearly invisible until some of the Minions came close to them, where they opened their wings to show a bright eye pattern before they flew away and red centipedes scuttling around, bringing up unpleasant memories of yesterday. One large, unidentifiable creature that looked like a cross between a crab, slug and lichen, was hanging to a tree next to them, not paying heed to the audience as it noisily ate its slime-covered prey. Orell and the Minions eyed the creature with suspicion, since the unfortunate victim was only slightly smaller than a Minion.   
The unidentifiable creature remained the only large animal for some time. The second one revealed itself in a way that made Orell nearly fall off the trunk he was crossing in an awkward manner, supporting himself on a tangle of vines growing above his head to not be thrown off by the trunk's pulsating movements. As the trunk slowly bucked upwards and brought Orell's head close to the unmoving trunk above, a patch that looked like ordinary moss suddenly separated from the surface, lifting arm-long articulated legs and baring black fangs. In a reflex to avoid the suddenly moving moss that sprouted fangs, Orell let go of the twiners and toppled over. Flailing, he barely managed to get hold of a thick liana below, the moving trunk out of the reach of his feet.   
The Minions had gotten in a panic, half tried to reach out to their master, half tried to attack the living moss, which turned out to be a large, well-camouflaged spider. Above all, he heard the the Green shouting.  
„No, no attacks! These good spidies!“  
„Ah yes, Greens and their love for spiders,“ Orell could hear Gnarl say in a tone that conveyed an eye roll perfectly. The 'good spidie' meanwhile, crawled to the top of its trunk and out of sight, annoyed by the Minions jumping around below, trying to reach it with their weapons while being brought out of range by the moving trunk they were standing on.  
„Love for spiders or not, how do I get down?“  
„Wait for the right moment. The trunk is moving down now, then it will start sweeping towards you, Sire. Make space for your Master, you vile vomit stains!“ Gnarl shouted through the link. The Minions, still in various states of nervousness, scuttled in two directions, clearing a wide section of the trunk.  
„Wait...wait...“ Gnarl said. Orell held onto the liana without even thinking of letting go yet. He was glad a good part of his armour was distributed on several Minions, there would be no way he would be able to hold on with the full armour weighing him down. His arms were already hurting as it was.  
The trunk now began to sweep sideways like the body of a massive, overgrown snake. „Now is a good moment to let go, Sire.“  
„Are you crazy? That thing is still too far away for me to land on it!“  
„It will get out of range very soon and you will have to wait for another cycle!“  
„I will rather wait until it moves a bit up and-“  
„ _ Shut up and jump _ !“  
Orell let go. Without thinking, his hands just loosened their grip around the liana and he fell. He wasn't even able to muster up a swear word to shout before the impact on the mossy trunk beat the air out of his lungs. The Minions, still yammering and wide-eyed, flowed back into the space they created earlier, and grabbed Orell by the limbs to prevent him from sliding off.  
„It wasn't that hard, was it, Sire?“  
„Aside from the four metres of fall, possible risk of broken bones and nearly falling off the trunk? No, not at all,“ Orell remarked dryly.  
„You're always welcome, Master. Please consult our services again if your life is in peril,“ Gnarl said with exactly the same tone.  
The Green, meanwhile, was standing with his foot claws hooked into a nearly vertical part of a snaking tree branch and with his arms crossed, waiting for the banter to end and the travel to continue.  
  
The spider seemed to be an indication of them nearing their goal. The second one Orell saw spooked him nearly as much as the first when it suddenly started moving, but when they passed the sixth he was already able to make out the symmetrical patterns of the hidden spiders and to avoid them. The Minions didn't need any mental commands to be held back from attacking the suddenly appearing spiders after the third time, which was something direly needed when they finally arrived. The Greens' settlement was completely obscured from the outside by a thick layer of twiners with dark, lobed leaves and pink flowers, the pungent smell of carrion that made the Minions behind him gag was the only indicator of something unusual behind it. The leading Green parted the layer like a curtain and revealed what was hidden beneath.  
The Minions stared with their mouths agape and Orell, though in much better control of his facial expressions, couldn't help but to be surprised by the sight himself. He had expected to see wooden huts to be built on top of the snaking tree trunks, treehouses, crafted with a similar design as the huts he had seen being constructed by the Browns in the Barracks. Instead, there were living plants. The twiners, which were growing at much higher numbers than anywhere else he had seen in the Infected Forest, were pulled together and woven into free-hanging nests of shapes ranging from round to the forms of overturned cones, which were decorated with bones of different animals and hides strung up by the branches that were sticking out of the walls.  
And then there were the plants. They were weird even for Infected Forest standards and of kinds Orell didn't recall to have seen before. Patches of the snaking trees were covered in spiky succulents and fern-like hanging leaves were pulsing with blue light, in a fashion reminiscent of the giant trees. Flowers of all kinds of shapes and colours were growing on the trees, vines and epiphytes, circled by buzzing swarms of insects and mixing their sweet smell into the collective stench of the present Greens to create an odour even Orell found hard to bear.  
The Green led them on, on the snaking tree trunk that grew through the layer of twiners and deeper into his clan's domain. They were noticed right away. More and more yellow eye pairs stared at Orell and the Minions when their owners stopped in their tracks on the snaking tree branches and the network of lianas or peeked out of openings in the vine nests. Their expression varied between exhilaration to mild curiosity.  
The camouflaged giant spiders seemed to be less interested in the newcomers. While Orell could make out one or the other sitting on the trunk they were walking on in time and avoiding it, he or the Minions still scared one or the other. The hair seams along their bodies and legs obscured their forms well and the dimly-lit conditions of the forest only added to their already sophisticated camouflage. The only spiders that weren't raising their legs and fangs at them before moving away were those that were ridden by Greens.  
Now Orell understood why the Minion leading them was so wrought up over the prospect of the others harming the spiders. The Greens seemed to have a similar connection to them like the Browns had to their wolves.   
They left the trunk and walked over a sheet of woven-together vines that spanned over to another trunk several metres away. From there, it was going upwards on a system of ropes and lianas alike. Then, they stood in front of a large set of round nests, one in direct contact to another, resembling oversized, green soap bubbles.  
The leading Minion told Orell and the others to stay where they were and went towards the structure. Then he whistled.  
A whistle from far above answered, then a green scheme shot down, jumping from one branch to another vine in its descent. It came to a halt in front of the Green and turned out to be a tribesmember himself, being of a noticeably bigger and sturdier build, and being clad in a mixture of mushroom leather, bones, fresh leaves and colourful bird feathers.  
„You have the fungi you were to pick?“  
„No, but...“  
The larger Minion hissed.  
„...found others like us! Led by armoured pinkskin!“ the other one blurted out.  
The feathered Green immediately went silent and his eyes shot to Orell and the Minions standing behind him, completely ignoring the Minion that had led them here. One moment of confusion later, the Green began to grin from ear to ear.  
„New Master,“ he whispered. „New Master!“ he then roared.  
The place filled up with Greens in no time. They came from all directions, jumping from the top, climbing from the bottom, running over the trunks and vines, descending on the silk threads of their spider mounts and emerging from their nests. Wide-eyed and grinning, they stared and whispered among each other, some looking on in confusion, among them a scrawny Green that hardly reached to Orell's knee and had only nubs for the spines that Greens had along their jaw lines and backs. Those that weren't Hiveborn. But luckily, the confused-looking ones were vastly outnumbered by those showing happiness and most importantly, recognition.  
Orell couldn't help but feel elated by all the faces looking up to him, expecting to be led anew. He sincerely hoped these will be the faces on the people in the future, when he would take down the Aurenthurian government and form it anew, making it efficient, closer to the people than to the guilds protecting their interests and giving it the glory it deserved. That these will be the faces on the people, not those distorted in fear and hatred or dull resignation upon seeing a tyrant. The faces that showed he had done everything  _ right _ .  
The magic of the situation was interrupted by the sounds of a Brown violently throwing up, sickened by the stinking proximity of so many Greens.   
  
Initially, Gnarl pressured Orell to get the newly-found Greens up and moving, but he gave up soon. While the Minions still readied themselves, packing their equipment together and rearranging the vines for some reason, the feathered green leader, who had been introduced as Wellsy by Gnarl, informed them that they could only move out next morning, as transporting their Hive during night was too much a risk. Instead, him and the Browns and Reds were invited to stay for the night and rest. Several of them grumbled they would rather go down than staying among the Greens and their stench, emphasized by another Brown sending his stomach contents down into the canopy below, but they chickened out when Orell told them he will stay here and avoid the nocturnal predators.  
Finding food among the settlement was a whole different problem. As Orell soon found out, Greens ate literally anything, even for Minion standards. He found them eating fruit he clearly remembered Yerael to tell they were deadly, mushrooms he wouldn't dare to even touch if someone would hold a blade to his neck and meat rotten to a slimy consistence that was having a stinking contest with the Minion eating it. In the end, upon asking one of the smaller Greens, he got some spiky, pear-like fruit, a stone dagger and the information he had to peel it. Gnarl said it was for the better, as this way he didn't have to eat anything that was directly touched by Greens, which apparently had the same effect as throwing it into a bog hole.  
After wiping the dagger's blade thoroughly with moss he plucked off a branch and the fabric of his sleeve, Orell was sitting leaned against a protruding, vine-covered branch and watching the Greens commuting, reshaping the vine network in the settlement's centre and tending to mundane business.  
„Since we will move out tomorrow morning, do you think the Gates will work properly?“ he asked after he threw the last piece of yellow, spiky peel down and put his helmet back on.  
„Still, no. They are only usable in soil without disturbed magic flows. Ask the Greens if there are any elven ruins close by, that's where you will have to go tomorrow.“  
„How else is it going? Signs of Bloodsheep, is Nordberg okay, no paladins around?“  
„No, yes and yes. We have decided to give up on searching for Bloodsheep, even the Nordbergians are already saying that he died out in the woods. There is no need to waste minionpower for finding a pile of clean-eaten bones. Which might come from anyone, might I add, the wolf riders had dug up enough in the woods to fill a shack.“  
„Well then. Was Ingrid informed of this?“  
„She was and didn't take the news well at first, but it happened without casualties, if that is what you want to know, Sire.“  
„Yes, that's... Gnarl, I think something is wrong with the link. Your voice starts sounding strange.“  
„Must be something on your own side, Master, I can hear you loud and clear. Maybe check the Shroud for any insects that are causing the disruptions,“ Orell heard in a voice that seemed to fluctuate in pitch and becoming muddy.   
He took the helmet off, then stared onto the construction of wires and metal disks inside. What was he supposed to do again? He plucked one of the disks loose and stared at the blueish-green light it reflected from the surroundings with fascination. Then he got bored of it and looked up from the helmet he was holding.   
The tree trunks and twiners were writhing like snakes, forming words and sentences. Orell tried to read them, but made little sense out of it.  _ Swelling in ponds and dragons written by pickles in three-holed _ ... Then a sheep floating past got Orell's attention off the words. The sheep stared at him, bleated and vanished behind the foliage. Orell got up, the helmet still in his hands and forgotten for the moment, to go into the direction the sheep went. He wanted to ask if it knew which direction he could find the orange cheese toads, but the trunk he walked on fell apart before him, turning into spiders.   
In search for another way into the direction of the sheep, Orell walked over a different trunk, which began to writhe underneath him in an attempt to shake him off. He felt anger welling up, since this tree clearly wanted to stop him from reaching the sheep, which he had forgotten about in that time, only the desire to get into that direction remaining. Finding support on a similarly writhing vine, he looked at a pillar, covered in a multitude of green, glowing and spiked faces of fat men. They were murmuring unintelligibly with bird voices. Upon Orell asking them for directions to the lime castle, they only murmured louder, some of them rudely belching a green gas. He looked angrily at the faces and at the back of the hairy green snake that tried to throw him off, staggering into the direction he came from instead.  
Upon turning around, he could see there was no need to walk on that particular snake's back, as in the distance, behind the writhing, writing vines and their caleidoscopic flowers, was a meadow, horizontal, vertical and upside down at the same time, with more sheep to float between the hills.  
That was the last thing Orell could remember of the night.  
  
„No, Scruffy, no! These tapestries clash terribly with the table. We need angular designs, like those once paid as a tribute from Nordberg, back in- yes, exactly those!“  
Scruffy dropped the Everlightian silk tapestries back into the pile of cloth that covered nearly half of the bedroom's floor and pulled free the rich brown tapestries Juno had pointed out, then spread them out to take a better look.  
„And they be not too dark? Me think lighter ones would look better.“  
„Dark ones are the best for this corner. Close to the bed, they make it look cosier. The light tapestries would look much better here.“ Juno pointed at the wall close to the table.  
Scruffy looked s c eptically at the naked wall close to the bed, then rolled the Nordbergian tapestries up and threw them to the waiting courtiers to get them hung up.  
„But next to the bed,“ she tentatively said, „would red colour not be better?“  
„Red?“ The former Mistress smirked. „Hmm, I remember a set of red curtains I once bought for Jorit's world domination anniversary, but if those would be appropriate? Heh, most likely the looters stole them, I wouldn't believe they would leave this fine work of art here.“  
Scruffy cocked her head. „The curtain with the funny stitchery? Still here,“ she stuttered, then dove into the cloth pile.  
„Yes, exactly those,“ Juno said with an even wider grin upon seeing the familiar golden embroidery of satyrs and nymphs doing what satyrs and nymphs usually did. „So, Orell is the devious type who appreciates such kind of decoration? I have much more of that kind stowed away in secret nooks and crannies, because Jorit wasn't a big fan of them, but if you want, we can beautify the entire Private Quarters in a way the 'private' in their name will be well-deserved!“  
Scruffy blinked a few times. „No, don't think Master likes that kind of decorations, probably prefers subtlety. But what kind of other decorations like this around here?“  
„You seem to be quite curious, aren't you?“ Juno said with a wink. „I have elven tapestries depicting fertility rites, carved candleholders, furnishing even the Red Dawn would be too ashamed to put up in their temples,...“  
With every item description, Scruffy's grin got wider. One of the cleaners was standing in the doorway, listening with his mouth hanging open. Scruffy threw a loose rock at him, making him run away and tend to his own business.  
„Candleholders sound good, they are subtle.“  
Yes, candleholders would be my pick, too, on the bedside table, where they would create the right mood at the right place. And some smaller bathroom furniture, that could be imported from Ruboria, it's quite fashionable there at the time.“  
„So, when do you think will he reel in his Mistress?“ Juno said after some time of looking for matching tapestries in the pile. The red tapestries with the satyr and nymph embroidery were lying rolled up next to the pile. „I haven't seen the feisty forge lady here even once, seems like she is the Mistress of the hammer and tongs rather than a more traditional type.“  
Scruffy shrugged. „Don't know.“ Then she faced Juno. „What would make good Mistress?“  
„A good Mistress must both have the looks and the brains to accompany her Overlord. Albeit, the former is more important, as the Overlord has Gnarl for brains already. She has to make the Overlord hers and keep her pecker up rather than submitting like a Minion. Where the Overlord is the regent of the outside, the Mistress is the regent of the Tower. But the best Mistresses,“ Juno snickered, „are those that can exhaust the Overlord in bed like a fight against the entire Glorious military.“  
Scruffy's ears twitched and rose. „But... do such Mistresses exist?“  
„Ooh yes, if you look in the right corners. Back in my days, I could keep Jorit the entire night up and the morning, too. Heh, I still would manage the half of a night even now. He himself wasn't bad at all, had the strength of a grass bear, the stamina of an Imperial messenger and a horse-sized... imagination. Oh, and the things he could do using some whipped cream and goose feathers, a shame he chose that Nordbergian she-boar at the end. He was a man like no other, those from the Glorious Empire and especially those from Aurenthuria are no match for him.“  
„But Master is from Golden Empire. He surely good.“  
Scruffy, I can assure you that the size of a man's nose is no indicator for the size of his imagination. And I say, the men from Aurenthuria are very unimaginative. All that righteousness and quest for good just isn't healthy. Look at the paladins for example, in between all their praying to Punarim, protection of the weak they like and smiting of the weak they don't like their imaginations suffered so much they can't get them up even when they need them! How do you think such a country does evolve and progress?“  
„By having someone else use imagination?“  
„Exactly. Only that the Punarim church in general is very unimaginative, not only in the figurative sense this time. But the Punarim church is also corrupt, just give them some money for new temple decorations here or relics there, and suddenly they will be all open for the imaginations of others like a horde of harbour harlots. And those willing to pay, those are very imaginative, so full of devious and unseemly ideas they would make an Everlightian midsummer festival run for its money. Do you know where I'm going?“  
Scruffy scratched her ears. „No?“  
„Money and power. Your master could, on one hand, conquer the Golden City and then easily use his imagination to enter the minds of the populace and make them his, for a big imagination would easily impress them. Or, he could use the current system to his advantage and put some of the conquered money into the right hands to make the church dance after his pipe, corrupt them from the inside out until they will be like quivering not-virgin-anymores when he actually shows up before their gate with his horde to enter. Scruffy, these tapestries are meant for the lounge. Look for something with warmer colours!“  
In the yet-undecorated room next to it, Grime rolled up a piece of parchment and put it into his bag. While he had been sent up by Gnarl just to bring some fresh quills, he had stopped to listen to what Juno was talking about. And even though Gnarl would probably shout at him again for taking so long and he had to filter out a lot of the dirt contained in the gutter that was Juno's mind, the information he got might interest Gnarl. Before any of the two or their accompanying courtiers could notice, he ran through the Private Quarters and down the flight of stairs that led to the Throne Room.  
  
Someone else was going down a flight of stairs this night, but it was at a much slower pace that lacked the lightness of youth. Alderius had to pause to catch his breath for a few seconds, before he could continue. And then further down, down into the depths of the Golden City's sewers, the place of the city that was the least 'golden'. He wasn't even close to the actual sewage yet, but the smell and the wet, sludge-covered walls made it apparent what he was nearing.  
Usually, the druids had their meetings in their designated temple, but this meeting was different. Aurenthuria was a political snake nest, behind the masks of courtesy and manners were abysses of corruption, espionage and backstabbing.  Hence, they had decided to meet in the 'alga greenhouse', as they jokingly called this place, to keep their topics to discuss out of the earshot of uninvited listeners. It was saddening that just to survive in the parliament, the druids had to take on the same methods of dishonesty they openly despised.  
When he opened the door at the end of the stairway, Alderius was nearly blown back by the hot, moist air and stench that filled the city's sewers. Rats and giant insects scuttled away from the sudden disturbance. A simple spell of a glowing orb cast light into the darkness. Red light to not disturb the sewers' natural inhabitants. Then, Alderius went along the maintenance paths that led along the walls to the sides of the flowing rancid waters, on a path that he unfortunately knew all too well.   
His goal was a weathered door, hidden behind such a thick layer of black sludge it was pretty much invisible,  if  one wasn't specifically looking for it on the wall. Alderius carefully entered and was greeted by a much stronger white orb of light, effectively cancelling out the red one of his own. The light shone onto several other druids, all of them save for three being elves, all wearing brown robes and uncut hair with beards on everyone who could grow them.   
There was not much to say about the rest of the room made visible in the magical light. Probably an abandoned storage room for the maintenance personnel once or something built by the city's criminal underground, it was devoid of mobiliar save for the wooden table and chairs the druids had brought into the room when they started using it and the walls were made of naked rock covered with the same sludge that thrived in the sewers.  
Alderius looked at the assembled colleagues. „Looks like everyone has arrived before me. Let's not waste any time. What have you found out?“  
„One of my pupils overheard a Punarim temple guard talking. A lot of money had been donated by the kind-hearted Count Doran to the temple, specifically for the paladin order,“ Dorgrey said. „That same Count Doran who tried to use slush fees on us to convince us voting for the destruction of the Infected Forest.“  
Several jaws clenched at the mention of the Count's name. „So, you suspect he donated the slush fees we rejected to the paladin order to make them go ahead of a parliament decision and start burning it down as soon as possible?“ Melindred, the only dwarf among the druids, asked.  
„Exactly.“  
„Mother-beating bastard,“ the dwarf muttered.  
Alderius ignored him. „I'm pretty sure Sayael is involved in this, too. Usually, he started screaming at the top of his lungs very soon whenever the parliament brought up the forest, but since five days, he has been suspiciously calm. He knows the purpose of the Count's donation, that it was not just made out of good will and reverence for the sun god.“  
„In other words, the church is cheating and the politics are backing it,“ Melindred stated. „Alderius, can't you just make it public? If the populace finds out that their church is led by a cheating son of a boulderbeast, wouldn't it cause an uproar big enough they will backpedal to keep the donations flowing?“  
„And get me and maybe you all too a visit by the Briarthorns before more of such secrets make it to the public,“ Alderius concluded. „No, we have to work with subtlety. The only way to survive backstabbing is by using backstabbing tactics yourself. One way would be to bring up some of the more evident crimes of Count Doran. If everything goes right and the populace is interested, further investigations into his ploys will bring the donation and its purpose to light. He would be unable pay the Briarthorns for all the pricks he would need to silence everyone.“  
„ _ If _ everything goes right.  _ If _ . There is no guarantee for that, maybe the populace will just briefly lift their heads, then continue in their dozing state of mind,“ Eshwen said. „I suggest to put effort into influencing the cardinal point of the problem, the parliament. It's Doran's own fault his son died while pursuing an idiotic past- t ime activity in a clearly dangerous place. The delegates should know this, and focus on more important topics. Why is nobody tackling the fisherman's district poverty, for example?“  
„Because the craftsmen profit from being able to pollute the river and because the traders have an easier time to sell their imported fish without having to compete with the local fishermen,“Alderius replied. „Coming back to the point of Doran's fault, that is not a part of the dynamic any more for a long time. Now it's just the profit of keeping it versus the profit of burning it.“  
„Then why not spreading the thoughts of profits in keeping the Infected Forest among the populace? I know many complain about its existence, but if there was a paradigm shift to occur, the entire church will become beggars the moment it comes to light they want to burn something,“ Alderuis could see the barely-contained expression of disgust on Halendel's face, „that profitable.“   
„And how to create a paradigm shift so big in such a short time?“ the sand-elf druid Saaek asked. „Masses of humans barely change quickly, if they even change at all. I say, we will have to backstab, and use poisoned daggers for this. Sow discord. Tell stories in pubs, on the streets, in gatherings. Soon, protests will arise, because the people will want to have the comfort of their old institutions back, and for this, the corrupt parts will have to be pulled out like the skinfly larvae they are.“  
„So in essence, we will become what we fight. A convent of cheating, backstabbing bastards,“ Melindred commented. „Why not starting a fund to hire some Briarthorns and get rid of the Count and his high priest once and for all? It sounds way more honest to me.“  
„I think what we really need is time. Time to find a solution as well as time to delay the Count's plans.“ Alderuis rose from his chair. „I suggest we go to our homes now and start thinking. If you want to talk to each other on this matter, don't do it in the temple or in public. We will see each other tomorrow.“  
With this, the other druids rose from their chairs as well and made farewell gestures to each other. One after the other left through the decayed, slime-covered door. As Dorgrey wanted to leave, Alderius laid his hand on the younger druid's shoulder.   
„Wait. You said one of your pupils overheard a temple guard talking.“  
„Yes. The temple guard was pretty angry, since he would never see a rise of his measly wage while the paladins would get all the armour polish they wished for or something. I don't think more has been said on that matter.“  
„That is not important. What was your pupil doing in the Punarim temple?“  
„Oh. Well.“ Dorgrey looked visibly nervous. „There is an old acolyte serving there and he regularly buys medicine against rheumatism from me. Since he has to stay there for a long time and can't get his medicine himself, I always send Meril to bring it.“  
„How often does that happen?“  
„Daily, once in the noon, once in the evening.“  
„Good. Since Meril has such sharp ears, tell him to listen more closely to what is said in the temple. Maybe let him ask around in the temple if someone else wants medicine delivered. I want to know what these people are really planning.“  
  
Orell woke up with a headache. The headache was the first thing among many he noticed, though. There were also hurting bones from lying in a strange position for too long, a furry feeling on his tongue, itching skin, a strange pressure on his chest and a warm, stinking gust of wind blowing into his face. Where was he? He hardly remembered what happened yesterday, there were only faint memories of sheep, faces, snakes and spiders, which seemed more dreamt than actual events. With some effort, he cracked open his eyelids, to be greeted by a green, scaly face staring at him.   
„Dammit...“  
Orell tried to move his head to the side and move his limbs, with different amounts of success, to try and look around. He was wearing only his underclothes now, the remaining half of the armour he entered the Green settlement with having been taken off as well. The place he was crammed in with an arm behind his back and a leg up against the wall was consisting of living, woven vines with some dead, fungus-bearing branches in between and the bottom covered with dry moss. The pressure he felt on his chest came from the Green Minion sitting on it.  
„You awake?“  
„I think so... get off me.“  
The Green did as he said, jumping up against a wall and out of an opening in the woven structure's wall. Orell pulled his numb arm out from behind his back and waited for the bloodflow to return, then, slowly and not without trouble, got up to look out of the hole the Green left from.   
Only when he looked outside, he realized where he was. Somehow, he managed to get inside one of the Greens' nests and spend his night in there. A nest that was free-hanging, strung up on a system of vines, with the next snaking tree trunk being three meters away.   
And now, he had to get out.  
In the end, Orell managed to get to the trunk by walking on one vine and using two others as supports. The leader of the Greens was already waiting for him when he finally had halfways-solid ground underneath his feet again.  
„Good you awake, Master. Hive and Minions ready to move out.“  
Orell needed a few moments to understand what Wellsy was talking about. „Where is my armour?“ He rubbed his face.  
„Part with other Minions, part stored in nest. Got taken off after you tried throwing helmet off the trunk.“  
Just what in the Abyss Serpent's name was going on yesterday night? Albeit, Orell assumed it was better if he didn't know. At least he did take off the helmet, so Gnarl wasn't able to see what happened.  
„Then bring it here. The earlier we get moving, the better.“  
„Ah, there you are, Sire,“ Gnarl immediately said when Orell put on the helmet a Green came running with. „Is the transmission working fine?“  
„Yes, I can hear you clearly.“ Seemingly, Gnarl was really unaware of the events last night. Or he was and just wasn't showing it.   
Orell turned to Wellsy again. „We have problems with the Gates. Is there an elven ruin close by?“  
„Yes, not far from here. Can be reached fast, even with Hive,“ the Green leader said. Then he shouted up. „Get it moving!“  
Now Orell found out what yesterday's rearranging of the vines was for. Greens situated on the snaking tree trunks and branches began to pull on the vines and slowly a structure rose out of the biggest orbs from the central nest cluster. If Orell didn't know it better, he would have assumed it was just another plant from the Infected Forest. The Green Hive was consisting of segmented stems, the biggest of them ending in pod-like structures and its bottom consisted of a flattened rhizome.  
The Greens pulled the Hive past the nest cluster and then let it descend downwards, until it was through the foliage and out of sight. Minions that were not occupied with moving the Hive climbed after it. Orell watched s c eptically as more and more of the Greens descended.  
„How will I and that wolf get out of here?“ he asked the Green leader, pointing at Canis and his wolf on another trunk, the latter being visibly unhappy about this situation.  
„No worries, will get some supplies down with vines when Hive is on the ground. Can get down this way, too.“  
„Sire, I am glad there will be nobody watching this who is not a Minion. The sight of an Overlord, lowered by ropes like ship cargo. I have seen many strange sights in my lifetime, but this will be surely one among the strangest.“  
While Orell agreed with Gnarl's sentiments, this embarrassing way of transportation was still faster and less dangerous than climbing. During the wait for the Hive to touch ground, he began to put on the rest of his armour.  
  
When they were all finally on the ground again and a group of about ten Greens had put their shoulders underneath their hive, Orell decided he will get by without a breakfast. Unless he would find something familiar growing within reach, he didn't want to take any risks, particularly after what had happened last evening. Getting his holey memories of that event slowly together, he was pretty sure they were caused by the yellow spiky fruit he had eaten before.  
Even despite the Browns and Reds being visibly displeased with the smell of the Greens, they were much more relaxed in their presence than any time before since they entered the Infected Forest. While they stayed behind Orell in a tight cluster, the newly-joined Greens moved in a much more spread-out manner, partially even over the lower-hanging snaking tree trunks and branches. They were hardly noticeable, with their green colour blending into the surroundings perfectly, the shadows obscuring them and even their stench being partially masked by the smell of mould. Some of the Greens had taken the green, hairy spiders with them; those were either at the borders, securing the group or in the middle, with some supplies loaded on their backs as well.  
Among those mounted Greens there was a notable exception. One of them was riding something where the similarity with a spider stopped at the eight legs. Said eight legs bore three wide, leaf-like toes, the slender body was covered with overlapping plates pulsating with an orange-red pattern and the head bore a set of tentacles nearly as long as the rest of the body. The creature's rider was keeping close to the group of non-Greens and looking at Canis with a smug expression, while the wolf rider was shooting glares at him. Orell hoped their mutual hostility would stay at glares, as unnecessary conflicts were the last things he needed.   
Even with the moving speed being dictated by the group of Greens carrying the Hive, which regularly didn't fit through the designated path and required backtracking, it was like the Green leader had said. The travel was largely uneventful, seemingly because the smell of such a large group of Greens had a similar effect on the fauna like the smell of the giant slug creatures had; the only incident consisted of a Brown getting sprayed with sticky slime when he disturbed a black worm-like creature with lots of stubby feet.  
Orell couldn't believe his eyes when they finally reached their goal. First it were the mould-covered skeletons of trees in between the deformed, creaking trunks indicating the presence of already-dead native flora, then the snaking trees, fungi and plant-animals suddenly retreated in favour of ordinary, normal-growing trees with green leaves, brown bark and underbrush that wasn't covered in tentacles. The change was so jarring that for Orell this was easily the strangest part of the Infected Forest he had seen so far, even weirder than the white dead landscape from yesterday. It was strangely silent here, possibly an effect of the everpresent background noise of the mutated parts having been replaced by normal animals just like the plants were replaced. Even sunlight was visible between the leaves and branches, once the extraordinarily thick and sheet-like canopy had retreated.  
The reason for the change, the cause for a pocket of the original Evernight prevailing first showed itself in the form of white marble pieces, looking like the fragments of pillars and statues. Then they saw nearly complete statues partially overgrown by trees, depicting robed priests holding ritual blades in their crossed arms. And then they were standing in front of a wide flight of stairs, leading up to a platform, where the actual ruin started.  
Orell was impressed. He had heard a lot about the famous elven architecture of old, but had never seen them. There were some recreations of this style found in the Golden City, the Mother Goddess temple and parts of the druid buildings, but none of them were a match to this. He felt reluctant to go up the flight of stairs, it was for him like desecrating a place untouched for centuries which wanted to remain that way.  
„Gnarl, do you think the Gate can be activated right here?“  
A short pause, then the advisor shouting some distance away at a Minion. „Useless lazy dungheads... Yes, Master, this place looks good. Soft soil, nice and secluded, no mandelite near and far,“ he finally replied. „I have informed the Foundations, the Gates will arrive as soon as possible. Soon, the lap of the Netherworld will welcome you again, Sire.“  
There were still a few minutes to wait before the Gates would arrive. The Greens put the Hive to the ground and staggered away, to be replaced by some of the Greens that were flanking the group earlier. All the Minions, including the spider riders, were now in a tight cluster standing around Orell, giddiness on their faces upon the prospect of being able to return home.  
Home.  
Now being so close to leave the forest after so many days and returning to the Netherworld appeared almost surreal to Orell. The dim, multicoloured light, the strange birdsong, the buzzing of insects around his ears, the itching coming from the bites of bloodsuckers, the smell of mould and rotting vegetation, all that had somehow become a part of him. The prospect of going back into the neat, clean Netherworld had turned into a distant dream by the time. And now it was in vicinity.  
But then again, returning to the Netherworld also meant the access to a bath, clean clothes and a razor, which were things even years in the Infected Forest wouldn't have quenched the desire for. Orell had spent too much time being filthy in the Golden City's dungeons already, this simply wasn't a thing he wanted to be reminded of again.  
A rumble indicated the end of his continuous stay in the forest. The Greens were found, their Hive was retreated, his business was done here for the moment. One, two days in the Netherworld were awaiting him before he would return, to take care of the paladin threat. Then soil was splattered across the place next to the stairs and the Minions cheered upon seeing the familiar black, clawed shapes of the Gates drilling out of the ground and unfolding when they came to a rest.   
The Hive of the Greens went in first, through the main Gate. As soon as it vanished in a pillar of blue, the Greens began to throw their supplies into the blue glow. Meanwhile, the Reds and Browns were staring wide-eyed at Orell. First, he was not sure what they wanted, but then it struck him. They wanted to go home just as much as him, but they wanted permission first. Orell dismissed them with a mental command.  
The two Reds, being the closest to their red-glowing Gate, jumped in first, nearly at the same time and almost colliding in mid-air. Meanwhile, the first Brown neared his Gate, almost carefully, while several of his hordemates rushed past him to get in first. The Brown, who seemed to feel quite home if the amount of fungi and insect parts integrated into his armour were an indication, respectfully reached out with a hand towards the Gate.  
And was struck by an arrow in the back. An arrow with bright-green, striped feathers coming from one of the native birds. Orell didn't need to see the arrowhead to tell what kind of arrow this was.  
In the next moment hell broke loose. The Greens, still not done depositing their supplies into the Gate, spun around to face the threat. The few left Browns raised their weapons, looking up, or ducked for cover. Orell loudly and scurrilously cursed his luck.  
The Sarul-Ras came from all sides, descending from leaf constructions in the trees that had hidden them perfectly.  
The bastards had been waiting for them here.  
Orell reached for his belt to draw his sword, but was quickly reminded that he had lost it in a mushroom cap on a gorge's wall. He cursed again, then shouted at Gnarl to get the new one he commissioned before leaving. Being reduced to using his Minions, he focused onto the Red Gate for summoning.  
Just before Orell managed to raise his arm and pull up fiery assist ance, he had to use said arm to block off the short bone blade of an elf clad in exoskeleton pieces. He was driven back, away from the Gates, desperately parrying one blow after another. Using his gauntlets for blocking was something unusual to him; swordfighting wasn't done like this among Aurenthuria's nobles. While the Minions were raging on in their own fights, the only thing Orell could do was to praise Giblet's and Ingrid's masterful craftsmanship again. Even Gnarl wasn't helpful, as after he released one of his well-known salves of swearing, he began to shout at the Minions around to get out reinforcements.  
Before the reinforcements sent by Gnarl could arrive, Orell saw a lot happening. The Brown who was wounded first managed to crawl into the Gate and vanish in a flash of yellow light. One Sarul-Ras was swamped by Greens and torn down by the collective weight. Another Sarul-Ras, barely a man, got the club of a Brown into his face. A Brown, skewered by multiple arrows already but still fighting, met his end by a dagger plunged into his neck from behind. He was avenged soon by the mutated creature the one Green was riding.  
Canis died.  
Out of all the Minions, even the vastly outnumbering Greens with their spiders and their ability to turn invisible, he fought the most ferociously. His spear had killed two and taken down three; his wolf had finished those off. Jumping between the trees and rapidly changing directions while swinging his weapon, he was not an easy target for the archers on top of the trees and those on the ground were not nearly fast enough to catch up. He ran past the Green with the tentacled creature, to give him a smug grin, then towards an elf clad in a red-patterned cloak fighting off several Greens at once. His feather-adorned spear pointing at the elf's back, Canis was sure to make this one his sixth kill. When the Sarul-Ras spun around to block off the spear with his armoured right arm, Canis was so surprised by his opponent's speed he didn't even notice when the jagged bone dagger in the elf's left hand was thrust into his chest by his  own wolf's momentum.  
The choked scream let Orell falter for a moment. Canis lay on the ground, his wolf speeding off into the underbrush and away, his killer fighting off a group of Greens. The drop in defen c e was immediately taken by his own opponent for advantage. Instead of taking the chance and getting the dagger into one of the armour's joint, the elf struck him in a way Orell lost his balance and stumbled backwards. He heard the elf whistle and make a brief hand sign. Before being able to figure out what this was supposed to mean, something heavy collided with the back of Orell's helmet, making it ring like a temple bell.  
The ringing was the last thing he remembered when his mind slipped into unconsciousness. 


	12. Hunters becoming hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, we get some fun with the parliament again, a Minion perspective sequence, Orell dealing with a concussion while he tries to flee from a bunch of elves that want to cook him for their god, blowing his cover and almost blowing chunks again during the escape, having some fun with the minions swinging, playing 'hide and seek' and 'catch the pod', kicking gnomes and desecreating a holy hole to top it all off. And another sequence in minion perspective, I think I really should do those more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, critique is appreciated as it helps me to improve future writing.

„I stand by my point. This is not going to happen.“ Morning Wood crossed his arms and lifted his nose in the air.  
„But please consider it,“ Martina Benetty said. „These 'evil creatures' are people, too!“  
To emphasize her argument, Martina clapped to bring in the cupbearer who carried a tablet with three bottles of assorted wines. Said cupbearer was Martina's pet project. Rather than hiring a human, elf or even a gnome, the latter being a distasteful, but sadly very popular habit among the nobility, her servant was a short, blue and fish-like creature that was almost unrecognizable inside the elaborate, embroidered dress it wore. It was known as a river-devil, netcutter or frogmonkey among the general populace, or among those more familiar with these creatures and the lore behind them, as a blue minion.   
Minions were said to be vicious, violent creatures of little intellect, very reclusive most of the time, but their populations were known to periodically explode and collapse just as quickly, usually at times when Evil had the world under its boot. When their populations rose to high numbers and they had someone to direct their bloodlust and destructiveness, they were extremely dangerous. To the luck of the people, the last time an Overlord had reigned was more than forty years ago and the few instances the minion populations got out of control were quickly taken care of by the paladins.  
The blue cup-bearer was different from that which was usually known about them. This one was polite, well-mannered and subtle, a result of Martina's year-long, dedicated training. The proof that minions could be integrated into society and the statement that it would work with other beings stamped off as 'evil creatures', too.   
The group of delegates, invited by Martina Benetty for a political debate on this matter, which was officially disguised as dinner, reacted differently to this sight. Sayael and Morning Wood shot death glares at the creature, Makar, Alderius and Gernot friendly acknowledged it, Jens and Frederick appeared disgusted, Gorhuleb angry, while Thergad had only eyes for his beer mug. Only Olaf was genuinely surprised. It was understandable, as the nobility delegate was seeing the minion for the first time; Elena had to be excused because of a horrible case of food poisoning from a fish dinner four days ago and therefore wasn't able to attend the meetings for the time being.  
„As you can see,“ Martina Benetty continued while pointing at her cupbearer, who poured wine into everyone's glasses and left the room as soon as he was done, „they are, for the most part, just misunderstood. Danny here was just like any other of the river-devils when we found him, and now look at him. With love and care, we can integrate them all into our society and not discriminate against them by default, as we unfortunately do.“  
„But how do you want to do this, Miss Benetty?“ Makar said. „Everyone of them would need their personal trainer for integration, which is simply not possible.“  
„Personal trainers aren't needed. Tests with mountain trolls showed that they can be taught as groups, after some initial failures, though. But we have worked out our system to the point where it is perfectly safe.“   
„So,“ Frederick said, in between picking his teeth, „you do admit that there were failures. That the mountain trolls probably destroyed equipment, or injured or killed people of yours? That they are dangerous?“  
A shadow flew over Martina's perpetual smile. „Yes. Yes, I will not deny it. It was the teacher's faults, caused by... differences in the social structure. It was entirely preventable would they have been more careful and attentive.“  
„And since your teachers, to your account very knowledgeable people, got involved in 'preventable accidents', as you put it, you do think it is acceptable to unleash those monsters onto the normal people, which have never dealt with mountain trolls before and would be completely oblivious to the differences in 'social structures'?“ Frederick added. The others listened rather than saying anything; as a halfling delegate, Frederick was the most knowledgeable about trolls, as his race had some experience with them from a history of slavery.  
„No. We will adjust them to our culture and our laws first. We are very aware that a mountain troll or a river-devil isn't very friendly when you meet him or her first, but this isn't because they are inherently evil and destructive, no. They simply don't know better, but they can be taught. And this is why I'm asking you, we need funds for teachers and classrooms, but most importantly, we need you to stop hunting them down like pests. Trust is the first step for a proper integration, and for this they shouldn't have to fear being killed every time they see one of us.“  
„Still, they aren't called evil creatures for nothing! They might be all nice and friendly around you evil rights weirdos, but leave them alone for two seconds and they will be eating the brains of the innocent!“ Morning Wood shouted.  
„Squeak squeareek arwaaa squeaak walii waa!“ Gorhuleb shouted at the top of his lungs.   
The elven translator, who had only gotten a place at the table after Martina firmly insisted on it despite the gnome delegate's protests, repeated: „Gorhuleb the Great and Magnificient says that he won't accept the integration of trolls. There are too many big people that can step on the glorious members of gnomekind on the streets already.“  
„Yes, I agree,“ Sayael added with a smirk. „We have built up this magnificient city for the good people to live in peace and safety, not to have it run over by criminals, monsters or shady individuals.“  
Martina Benetty changed her tactic; instead of appealing to the delegates' morals, she tried to get their support by pointing out the economical advantages the additional citizens and their diversity in needs would bring. Alderius only half-heartedly participated, instead his focus was more on observing Sayael and thinking about the druids' plans regarding him rather than the bantering. The head priest had been oddly calm the entire time and bore a self-pleased expression. Usually, he would have exploded at the prospect of not only allowing trolls and river-devils to become parts of Aurenthurian society, but also diverting money into this kind of project. Whatever he was planning was of a scope that extended even beyond the Infected Forest matter.  
 _How to expose the church's cooperation with Doran_ , Alderius thought while absentmindedly poking around in the vegetable dish in front of him. This was a question that was bugging him the entire day already, since yesterday's meeting in the 'alga greenhouse'. There must be a way how he could do this without any traces leading to himself or the other druids as well as in a fashion that Aurenthuria's people will catch up on it, leading to the desired results. Like the current situation with Benetty showed, economy might be the solution; as soon as the word 'money' left her lips, Makar and Frederick were both all ears, especially the latter suddenly having forgotten the mentioned mountain troll incident and praising the rising number and more diverse needs of potential customers the integration of 'evil creatures' into Aurenthurian society would bring instead.  
The people and especially the mightier guilds and other organisations would surely listen up too if money was involved. If his hypothesis was true and Count Doran donated money to the paladins in an effort to purge the Infected Forest, the main source of complaints would be said paladins' expenses for such an expedition.   
Due to a ruling that went into power early in Aurenthuria's existence, the paladins were allowed to take supplies from the populace without compensation, as the compensation would be their own protection and safety. While abuse of this system was very rare and punished severely, the regular use of it was still fairly unpopular among those that had to give. Those in question were, for the most part, the farmers, the most populous section of the Aurenthurian citizens. If they were to informed that they would have to give again, for a purpose that was not in the interest of their protection, the uproar might get big enough to let the Punarim church stop their advances. Combined with the uproar of the traders and craftsmen, which were interested in protecting the forest out of economical reasons, this would tear a reasonably large hole into the church's popularity and no amount of money from Doran would be able to change it.  
As for the method of spreading the information, pamphlets could be a solution. There were some trusty dwarven printing presses around that did their work for little money and without asking questions. This might eliminate the problem of the source of the pamphlets being traced back to the druids. From what little Alderius knew about him, Count Doran didn't appear like someone adverse to the use of the Briarthorns. This famed and feared association of assassins was well-known for its good track record and it was nearly impossible to escape them when somebody was able to afford their hefty fees and sent them one's name.   
Whatever they chose to write onto the pamphlets and however they were going to distribute them, it had to be done in a fashion that nothing would suggest this came from the druids or even from anyone involved in the parliament.   
„And I do say letting those _monsters_ into the city is a risk too big to take!“ Morning Wood was now nearly shrieking, with a voice even Thergad had gotten his head out of the beer mug currently filled with a good wine to watch the reformist delegate instead, his face showing endless amusement at the younger elf's rage.  
Benetty made appeasing gestures, but her perpetual smile appeared more strained by the minute. „Please, Mr. Wood, do not refer to them as monsters.“ Whatever she wanted to add went under in Sayael's much-delayed outburst.  
„Enough of this insanity! If those creatures were created to be able to live with us, they would have been created much less violent, hideous and lawless! The reason humans, gnomes, elves, halflings and dwarves can share a city is because we were able to adapt to each other without having something to painstakingly learn in a school what we call _basic decency_!“   
„And when we are at the topic of basic decency, why don't you have your paladins around more in the vicinity of the city and along the trading roads to protect the citizens rather than letting them go to Nordberg to exterminate animals and dig for treasure?“ Makar retorted. „Three attacks in the course of two weeks! The main problem that lacks basic decency here are not the trolls and river-devils, but plain old bandits!“  
„Who are you to tell me what the appropriate tasks of the paladins are!? They are to defend the values of the church and faith, not for doing the works of the guards!“  
„We do pay for your paladins,“ Gernot jumped into the fray. „Your values of the church and faith are financed by those people that are robbed on the streets!“  
„And nevermind that despite us paying enough taxes for the guards as it is, there is still not enough of them to defend us, so you could show some of that basic decency and give us something back for all the tithes we have to pay you!“ Jens added.  
Alderius sighed. Of course, the flow of the debate brought them into topics that had nothing to do with what they originally wanted to discuss. It always did. Being aware how little use participating in it had, he just resorted to listening, as the current outburst did provide very interesting insights into the prevailing dynamics between the church and the other populace groups, insights that were relevant to the plans of the druids.  
The outburst and the entire debate came to an end when Sayael 'excused' himself and stormed out of Martina Benetty's villa. Olaf stared at the direction the head priest ran off to in bewilderment. _Welcome to the parliament_ , Alderius thought.  
„Well,“ the head of the Organisation for Acceptance of the Rights of Evil Creatures and their Integration into Aurenthurian Society said, still with a smile on her lips while looking down the hallway. „I guess we will try to discuss the matter someday later. You can enjoy your meal still, of course. Wine?“  
Alderius waved Danny away, who entered the room again, offering wine to everyone still left, and concentrated on the food. He wanted to be done with this quickly and then go down to the scheduled meeting in the local sewers again, and for this he preferred to have a clear head.   
  
When the reinforcements sent by Gnarl had arrived, the battle had already been fought and the battlefield emptied, save for the dead and too heavily wounded. The eerie silence hanging over it was only disturbed by the rattling breaths and the coughing of the dying, the fighting having scared the birds and other wildlife away.  
Chasm, who had heard the Browns from the Throne Room running through the Barracks and rallying up everyone to join the reinforcements who could, and taken the chance immediately to get his trainees the chance to get some field experience as well as to get out of the monotony of exercising, was disappointed. He was lusting for battle, but all that remained on this battlefield was to finish off the wounded elves and drag the Minions that could still be saved back to the security of the Barracks, where Mortis would be able to tend to them.  
The other Minions were equally disappointed. There were Chasm's trainees, both defenders carrying simple wooden shields they had salvaged from the pit and gladiators trained in the use of two swords at once, Giblet's assistant Widdle with the finished sword for the Master and several of the strongest Reds, among them the two forest survivors Rust and Igniot.   
„Where's Master?“ one of the younger Browns who had barely earned a decent helmet asked.  
The scarred marauder took some time to overlook the battlefield and examine its traces. Most of the dead Minions were Greens, luckily outnumbered by the elven corpses littering the ground. Traces were abundant, but all of them ended in front of tree trunks. The Overlord, neither dead nor alive, was nowhere to be seen.   
Instead, he found something else of interest.  
One lonely wolf was wandering around the place, circling a peculiar spot in the ferns he regularly bent down to. Chasm immediately recognized him, since this was the wolf his fellow marauder Canis has been riding for the last few years.   
Where was Canis, anyway?  
Chasm squinted and looked around. Usually, Canis was never more than two metres away from his canine friend, unless...  
Only now did Chasm take a closer look at the spot the wolf's attention was directed at. First he didn't want to believe it, but the shaggy fur coat and the antlers, now decorated with with pieces of colourful exoskeletons and other strange animal parts, were unmistakable. Chasm felt his heart sink. The mute Brown has been his companion for most of his life and now he had fallen. Of course, now he could be revived by the Well, but this was his very first death.   
Focussing on his task again, Chasm neared Canis' corpse while observing the wolf for his actions. He hummed, but made place and allowed Chasm to pick up the corpse, a somewhat clumsy task because of the crippled and missing fingers. While the original body wasn't needed for revival, this was the only way to get the wolf back into the Barracks.  
With nothing else to do, Chasm called the other Minions to him and left the battlefield through the Minion Gates. Tracking and following the elves was something for other, more experienced Minions than for a fighter like him. The Green Hive had been returned earlier this day and the ones right for this mission had returned with it.   
  
The first thing Orell registered was the pounding. Immediately thereafter, he registered the other pounding, inside his head. He came back to his senses slowly, and with the senses returned the memories.  
The Green Minions being retrieved from the forest. A Gate drilling itself from the ground, a welcome sight after having been stranded for days outside the Netherworld. The Sarul-Ras attack. Something hitting him against the back of the head.   
At least he now knew where the headaches were from.  
Having recovered from the unconsciousness to some degree, Orell opened his eyes. What he saw surprised him, but not enough to elicit any more sound or movement from him, something he was grateful for. He had come to his senses on an uneven floor built from interwoven living vines poorly covered by a rough rug. His first assumption of having landed in one of the Greens' nests again, was quickly dispersed.   
The place he was in was too big, too angular for the round interiors of the nests. Aside from himself and the rug, there was also a table-like pedestal in view he could only see the front of in his lying position, the multitudes of decorations on the walls, consisting of woven artistry, carved figures and various animal parts like skulls, skins and bones surrounding a large, colourful painting of something that might be one of the forest's creatures, and dried bushels of plants hanging from the vines stretching on the ceiling. The moldy smell of the forest was nearly masked by a fragrant smoke filling the air.  
The soundscape supported Orell's doubts of being anywhere close to the Greens' nests. Everything he heard was dominated by the pounding. First he was not sure what it was, assuming it was a misperception connected to the pounding in his head, but then he recognized it as the thunderous thrums of the giant, glowing trees.  
He hadn't passed those trees for days.  
Trying to filter out the pounding, Orell was able to hear out more. The everpresent songs of birds and not-birds of the Infected Forest, the bellow of a haruk somewhere in the distance and... human voices?  
He started to listen more intently. There was no doubt, he did hear humans singing and talking outside. Unfortunately, he was not able to make out the language, all he could hear that it had an unpleasant accent and contained sounds he hadn't heard in any language he knew before.   
Then Orell finally put his observations with his latest memories together and it dawned on him.  
The Sarul-Ras had captured him, peeled him out of the armour and brought him to their settlement, for whatever purpose.   
In a sudden bout of panic, he started writhing and tried to get up, but to no avail. Crude ropes had been tied around his ankles and wrists, the latter behind his back. The struggle also made his head spin, so Orell had to lay still until the nausea subsided.  
He rolled onto his back, to at least have a better overview of the hut he had been deposited in. The Sarul-Ras surely didn't capture him on a whim, they had something in mind for him. Maybe Orell was able to find out what and plan ahead.   
Alone this simple movement made the nausea return. He had to pause again and stare at the hut's ceiling, which was mostly obscured by a net of vines that had an assortment of dried plants, animal parts and less identifiable organic objects hanging from them, alongside a variety of crafted decorations depicting faces and creatures. Said decorations were similar to the arrows, seemingly having been grown into their shape rather than having been carved.  
Just as he was about to turn to the other side, he spotted movement above. Something rustling and cursing in a high-pitched, rough voice and making dead leaves fall through in between the objects hanging on the ceiling. Then the objects parted, revealing a green, scaly and spiny face. Orell felt oddly reminded of a very similar scene from when he was freed from the dungeons. Did Greens always have to enter through holes in the ceiling?  
The Green softly hissed while hanging upside-down from one of the vines. „Quiet. We get you out of here.“  
„We?“ Orell whispered back.  
He felt something fumbling on his legs, then suddenly the pressure from the ropes was released. Another Green he didn't see or hear come into the hut entered his field of vision. Something tugging on the ropes around his arms told him there was at least a third Green present.  
With the ropes having been removed, Orell tried to get up, but he regretted it immediately. Leaning heavily against the pedestal in the middle of the hut and staring at his armour pieces lying on it in between several wooden statues that had a semblance to the large painting on the wall, he tried to calm the hammering in his head. The Greens, he counted four of them, were staring at him with worried faces and their ears askew.   
„I'm alright. Just a headache.“  
Orell soon found out that this assumption regarding his head was not true. After the headache subsided, he began to put on his armour with the aid of the Greens, but the movements brought the hammering pain back and elevated it to such levels that Orell suddenly dashed to the nearest corner and threw up. Over the hammering in his head he heard the Greens whispering among each other with their quiet, hissing voices and the talk of the Sarul-Ras outside suddenly getting louder and more agitated.  
A feeling of panic rose up. What if the Sarul-Ras were waiting for him to awaken, to do whatever they wanted to do to him? In addition to the head injury, Orell still didn't have a weapon and the four Greens might be able to take out one or two elves, but not even ten times the amount of Minions would be able to go up against a whole settlement. The Greens became invisible, two of them positioning themselves next to the cloth-covered entrance, while Orell remained leaning against the uneven, vine-woven wall. If he was lucky, the Sarul-Ras would just tie him up again.  
He waited, but nothing happened. The voices on the outside subsided, then he could hear them getting continuously quieter, as if their sources were walking away. Maybe the pounding of the trees had drowned out his retching. Seemingly out of the immediate danger of having Sarul-Ras entering the hut at any time, Orell steadied himself and resumed putting on the armour, more slowly this time to not trigger the nausea. The helmet was saved for last.  
Trying to filter out both the pounding outside and the pounding in his head, Orell listened to the Shroud's transmission. There was a commotion in the Throne Room audible, with Gnarl shouting the loudest, but being heard from a distance.  
Orell faced the Greens again, which stood around him after helping with the armour. He didn't want to risk raising the attention of the Sarul-Ras outside by talking to his advisor. Besides, Gnarl sounded busy at the moment.   
„What are your plans?“   
„Find path out of village and sneak down.“ At the same time, one of the Greens walked over to the entrance and carefully glanced outside. „Forest elves busy with ritual. Not attentive. Can get out if not drawing attention.“  
Orell looked down on himself. The armour was certainly blending in to some degree due to being dulled by various dried fluids and the bits of greenery stuck in between the crevices, but it was a far shot from the mushroom leather, bones and leaves the Sarul-Ras wore. He had to conceal himself if he didn't want to be spotted immediately. Maybe the animal parts and other decorations on the walls would do it.  
The carpet he woke up on might pass as a coat, but was way too small to cover him entirely. Removing the door covers was out of question, but the greenish, shaggy fur covering the pedestal his armour had been lying on would probably not be noticed right away when it did go missing.  
As he looked over the skins and skulls, thinking about which of them would be the best to cover his helmet with, Orell remembered a recently-gained ability so useful for this situation that he had to restrain himself from slapping his own forehead.  
Shadow magic.  
In all that fighting, running away and searching for a way through the Infected Forest Orell had all but forgotten about the Spell Stone. While he was used to non-magical approaches due to not having any innate magical abilities he could at least have remembered the very recent events and how the shadow magic had influenced these. Thinking back, if he would have remembered using shadow magic earlier, many events in the Infected Forest would have played out differently, would have played out more in his favour.  
Suppressing a laugh at his own stupidity, Orell dropped both the rug and the green fur he was holding. The four Greens stared at him, wondering what was so funny, when Orell activated his shadow magic, shrouding himself in a layer of black, vibrating smoke. Trying to ignore the hammering in his head, he thought of the plethora of Sarul-Ras he had seen during the fight earlier and let the iridescent smoke surrounding him condense into an illusion. The Minions were staring at him wide-eyed, two of them backing away with their claws raised.  
„Do you like it?“  
Orell's appearance was now indistinguishable from the forest's elves. He was now an elven version of himself, dressed in a mushroom leather tunic accentuated with large leaves and animal bones, with a feather-decorated skull covering his head.  
„If you want, you can get such an appearance, too.“  
The Greens shook their heads in disgust.   
While the appearance was now as inconspicious as it could be, the sound wasn't, as Orell quickly noticed when doing a few steps. This was quickly remedied by conjuring up the illusion of a few pieces of paladin armour, which Orell had seen on some of the Sarul-Ras warriors that were seemingly taken as trophies. The one thing Orell decided to actually take from the hut's interior rather than creating an illusion of was a decorated short spear with feather ornaments and a serrated bone blade. Even with no experience in using spears, Orell felt better having it rather than running around completely unarmed.  
Now he felt ready to leave the hut and enter the exteriors of the Sarul-Ras settlement.  
Behind the crude entrance covers were the pulsing orange lights of the gargantuan tree trunks, supporting a system of epiphytic snaking trees and living vines woven and even grown into bridges, platforms and balustrades spanning over multiple layers. Most of the huts Orell could see were grown from the giant trees' own bark, sitting on the sides of their trunks like tumors. Other, smaller huts were constructed out of living vines interwoven with large bones and were either leaning against the giant trees or stood freely on the platforms, like Orell's hut did.   
He looked around. There were a few Sarul-Ras to be seen walking on the bridges and platforms, but luckily all of them were a distance away and not paying any attention to him. Still, where was the singing coming from?  
Orell walked out of the door and on the balustrade surrounding the hut as inconspiciously as possible, while the Greens kept themselves in the shadows, darting forwards in leaps and turning invisible right thereafter. The hut's walls were decorated from the outside with dried leaves covered in paintings, shimmering wings, bones and pieces of exoskeletons. Much more than the other huts' walls were. This one hut must have a special purpose.   
At the backside of the hut a bridge was leading away, consisting of an unsecured, metre-thick tangle of wooden vines with a blotchy cover of red-spotted moss, but unfortunately it connected to a upper level, which would mean a delay in getting out of the settlement and onto the forest's ground.  
Orell dared a peek down. In between the snaking trees that were reduced to barely more than climbing plants, clinging to the orange-pulsing trunks and the strangely-coloured leaves on the side branches jutting from the giant trees themselves the ground was not even visible. If he were to fall, he might have enough time to cite Gnarl his testament before hitting the bottom.  
„Where is the right way to get down?“ Orell whispered. He pretended to enjoy the vista, not trying to appear like a lost elf to any unseen onlookers. The last thing he needed was the attention of the real elves.  
He didn't get an answer, at least not a spoken one. Scratching on the underside of the bridge he was standing in front of told him where the Greens were; rather than risking being seen in the open space of the bridge, they preferred to climb upside-down. Orell set a foot onto the vines, then hesitated. While the headache and the nausea currently were at tolerable levels, he did notice his steps were more precarious than usual, making this entire escape a risky business. After briefly looking around, he moved over the bridge, staring at the vines below and using his spear as a balancing pole while trying to appear as if he was checking the weapon for filth or damage.  
The bridge led to a small, partially secured platform that was stuffed full with various supplies in the depression of its centre. Orell could make out vine bundles holding together bones and branches of various sizes, saplings growing in earth-filled pouches of mushroom leather and the large caps of the mushrooms the leather came from. His face contorted in disgust when he saw the mummified corpse of a paladin among the pouches and jars, with half of his armour plates removed and green-glowing insect larvae crawling in and out of his exposed, porose flesh. If paladins had died here, even with this being one of the work risks, there was no wonder the clergy was pushy about the Infected Forest being razed. Count Doran's case was only the drop in the barrel that led to its overflowing.  
A rhythmic tapping and a soft hiss got Orell's attention off the paladin corpse again. The platform was connected to three bridges and a vertical network of vines. The tapping came from underneath the bridge to his left. Whatever thoughts he still had about the paladin's remains, he would have to think them later. There was something much more important to worry about now.  
  
The path shown by the Greens continued up and down. The Minions preferred to stay silent and out of sight, tapping on the undersides of the platform or using direct notions whenever one climbed past above on the many supporting vines to give directions. Only in the rare cases they had enough cover they walked on the platforms themselves. It didn't appear like there was much of a change in altitude as a whole.  
The progress wasn't exactly fast because of the pounding headache, the nausea and the occasional vertigo. There were regularly situations when Orell had to stop and lean against the wall of a hut, a support structure or a nearby snaking tree trunk to let his head calm down, whenever he could make out a more secluded part of the village to hide himself from sight. He had noticed that whenever the pounding grew too strong, his illusion became unstable and frayed, started to bleed wisps of dark smoke. Crossing the narrow bridges and connections was always a challenge and something he risked only when the nausea was at its lowest. At least the Greens were considerate enough to generally avoid leading him onto the narrow paths, using them only when there was no other choice in a reasonable distance.  
At least the lucky streak continued and the only Sarul-Ras Orell saw were always at a distance, separated from him by several drops in between the bridges and platforms. Possibly this was the reason for the Greens to take such a long path; they wanted to avoid the elves more than they wanted to take the shortest route down. Orell stopped worrying about being ratted out and started to look at the composition of the village on the way instead.  
The huts they passed were generally small and lightly built, to not put too much weight on the platforms spanned up between the trees. Most of the doors were covered with the same leather curtains he had passed, but those where the covers were moved aside and showed the huts' interiors, were currently empty. Still, Orell could see that not a single one of them was furnished the same way the hut where the Sarul-Ras had brought him was.   
The Greens' path led him closer to one of the tree giants, where a wide platform connected a system of bridges, each of them ending on the entrance of the dwellings formed from the colossal tree's bark. Even from there, Orell could see the abodes were empty. Only one time he reeled back when he heard a snorting and a shifting coming out of one of the open doors he was about to walk past. A peek through the vines making up the wall showed an older elf sitting on a bed, likely not dangerous. Still, one of the Greens gestured at Orell, then silently jumped up on the roof. A sudden scratching coming from the wall at the hut's other side made the elder look away, which was the cue for Orell to pass the door.   
Meanwhile, the strange singing grew louder and Orell grew proportionally uneasier. He was pretty sure he was hearing them chanting in unison. One of the Greens mentioned some kind of ritual, but why did the Minions lead him closer to the Sarul-Ras? Even with his shadow magic, there was a big difference between fooling a low-ranked paladin and fooling an elf, especially with the headache putting a strain onto his concentration. In contrary to humans, where magical abilities were rare and mostly weak, every elf had innate magic. And with the effects the Infected Forest had with anything living in it, he couldn't tell how it had influenced the magic of the Sarul-Ras.  
A sudden, way too close shriek made him jump and spin to the left, his eyes on the direction the sound came from and his stolen spear raised. The creature the shriek came from continued sputtering, its leathery, eye spot-bearing wings spread wide and its maw open. While Orell had never seen this kind of creature with its red, wattled head and claws growing from its chest in the forest before, he did recognize its cry way too well. It was a whooper, one of the flying, shrike-like predators that accompanied the massive haruks. He passed it a glance and then turned away to continue on the path the Greens were giving; both its legs were tied to a perch next to a large dwelling on the tree's side, it didn't pose any immediate danger. Instead, he looked cautiously around, to see if the whooper's shriek had attracted the attention of any Sarul-Ras close by.   
And indeed, one Sarul-Ras from an upper level did shout something down Orell couldn't understand, then grinned and gave a nod before he walked out of sight again. Orell breathed out in relief. The shadow magic was effective on the forest elves, after all.  
They left the platform behind and moved over the free-hanging vine bridges, snaking tree trunks and platforms again, first descending, but then moving upwards. Orell saw two children sitting on one nearby platform, playing some kind of game he didn't know. They briefly looked up, but then returned to their game. At least his head decided to cooperate in this section, as there was currently no cover available to recuperate and losing concentration would blow his cover. His path led further to the left, around the tree the balustrade was attached to. The chanting grew louder with every step. And far below, beyond a sheet of leaves growing from a branch of the giant trees, he finally saw its source.  
A platform, the largest he had seen by far, was currently hosting a convocation of maybe nearly the entire Sarul-Ras population of the settlement. They were sitting in a circle, all facing the middle, where a small elevation of vines interwoven in a complex, flower-shaped pattern had a single elf standing on it. She was old and hunchbacked, one of her arms seemingly missing and replaced by a prosthetic made of living wood, but there was no question that she was either the chief or the head priest of the settlement. A multicoloured fur cape covered her back and on her head was a skull so massive that Orell wondered how she wasn't collapsing under its weight. She held up a bowl with a bright orange liquid in her hands, chanted and all the other elves repeated her words in unison. On a nearby vine a large piece of skin was attached, bearing a colourful painting of something that might be one of the forest's creatures, the same kind of painting the wall of the hut Orell woke up in bore.   
He hid behind the bridge he was standing on. Even if the chances of detection were fairly low with everyone focusing on the old woman with the oversized skull, the chanting and particularly the woman's presence made him feel uncomfortable. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and her as possible. The speed he went after the Greens made him feel the nausea rise again, but that was one of his lesser worries at the moment.  
A sudden, familiar voice made him almost stumble over his own legs and lose concentration on the illusion.  
„Ah, there you are, Master! We were already worrying about your disposition. Why did you take your helmet off, it would have been much easier to locate you with it on your head, where it belongs.“  
At least Gnarl had the decency to start talking when Orell was crossing a broad platform and not a thin, unsecured vine bridge.  
„I didn't take it off, the Sarul-Ras had done this favour to me,“ came the reply.  
„Where are you th- oh. _Oh_.“ Gnarl continued talking in a near-whisper, as if he feared his voice could be heard. „That explains why you are looking like that right now. A good thing you are alive and in one piece, then. The Greens you have recovered had told me about the Sarul-Ras and what they told isn't pretty. While I do enjoy them more than the depressing Evernightian elves, their main problem is that they are not on our side.“  
„Did the Greens also tell you something valuable I might need to know?“  
„They often use various poisons on their arrows, the effects ranging from just inflicting excruciating pain to a slow languishing over several days to those that kill in the matter of a few seconds, so better send your Greens forward if you encounter anyone with a bow. They at least are immune to the poisons if not to being skewered by the arrowheads. Their preferred method of combat are by setting up ambushes and attacks from above, but unfortunately you found that out already. Their manners are absolutely disgusting. Sarul-Ras will sacrifice anyone to their tree god they can capture alive in the most gruesome way possible, their coming of age rite is so repulsive I don't even want to talk about it and they cut their toenails on the kitchen table.“  
„So, does this mean...“ Orell got lost in thought while everything he saw before finally clicked into place. Waking up in a hut different from any other dwellings with odd wall decorations and a pedestal in the middle that resembled an altar. The ritual chanting he could still hear in his back, next to the same painting he had seen in the hut. The strange, serrated spear he took from the hut, which bore carvings along the shaft and had small figures tied close to its bone blade.  
„Yes, Sire, you just escaped a particularly gruesome deity-related death.“  
Orell didn't reply right away, since the Greens were leading on to a downwards-sloping vine bridge he needed all his concentration on to not lose his balance or his control on the illusion, which was dangerously close to falling apart.  
„Gnarl, do you have a plan against a particularly gruesome escape-related death as well?“  
„I have told the Greens to track you down and then to lead you back to the ruin. Unfortunately, I'm not aware of Sarul-Ras settlement structures, so I left that part to the Greens to figure out. The details are something you will have to talk with Talon about.“  
„Who?“  
The answer in form of a wave and a toothy grin came from one of the Greens, the specimen with a necklace made of numerous teeth, spines or claws and armour pieces made from mushroom leather that looked suspiciously like they were repurposed Sarul-Ras clothing.   
„Rest waiting on ground. Leader didn't want to risk bring up too many, smell might give away,“ Talon said.  
„Eugh, yes,“ Gnarl picked up the Green's words. „If there is one thing that amazes me is how the Greens manage to hide from their enemies despite smelling like a pile of slaughterhouse waste next to an overflowing bog hole on a warm summer day.“  
Orell ignored Gnarl's comment on that matter. „How far is it before we reach them?“  
The Green seemed to think for a moment. „Not far. Had to take long way because of ritual, but have possibility to get down on next firetree.“  
That explained why they had been leading a path that had mostly increased their altitude. „Then lead on.“

The firetree, as Talon had referred to the giant trees with pulsing rows of orange light, came soon into their sight, after descending right through the spread-out dark blue leaves of another tree and another close encounter with a group of Sarul-Ras children later. Similar to the first trunk they moved past close, this one was scaffolded with several storeys of platforms as well, which connected the bulging bark-grown dwellings with the platform- and vine-network that formed the settlement's streets.  
And just like on the first trunk, the dwellings were empty. Looking ahead, Orell couldn't make out any whooper pets ahead, but a fat creature that looked like a toad crossed with a sea cucumber rose its head and bawked at him as he passed by and a swarm of small insects dancing around a butchered carcass of some sheep-sized arthropod enveloped him and proceeded to get into his armour. Orell had to suppress the immense urge to tear it off and get the annoying insects out but that would break the shadow spell. The Greens were using the system of the more loose vines on the underside of the platform above to move, silent and inconspicious.  
Gnarl, meanwhile, continued to provide input on the scenery. „Living vegetation built into everything and the street layout is more confusing than the famed Maze of Makradin. The architectural approaches of the Sarul-Ras appear oddly reminiscent of the Everlightian elves and have to do little with the Evernight natives. I would watch out especially for that which happens over your head, Sire, because in the Everlight settlements the nastiest surprises always came from above. At least we hadn't encountered any traps yet, in that part the Everlight elves were far more proficient.”  
Orell paused for a moment to let the hammering in his head subside, as the proximity to the pounding tree made it rage harder. „This is a living settlement, Gnarl. They wouldn't riddle the space in front of their doorsteps with traps for their children or pets to run into.“  
„Indeed they wouldn't. Talon, did you encounter any traps on the lower levels or the village's outskirts?“  
The addressed Green shrugged while looking down from his current position on a vine over Orell's head. „Only barriers to keep big animals away close to ground.“  
„See, Sire, no style for a proper evil infrastructure. I had expected more from those twisted elves living in a twisted forest. Even the gnomes could do that better.“   
Orell went after the waiting Greens again, towards a half-hidden bridge leading off the platform and downwards, behind the leaves of a low-hanging branch.  
„You would prefer if I would walk into one of them and getting maimed, killed or worse, recaptured?“  
„No, that's not what I meant. Of course it's all the better for us, it's just that after hearing so much about them and having seen them in combat as well, you start building up certain expectations and seeing those expectations not met can be quite disappointing at times. And if I get disappointed I tend to get- Sire, watch out!“  
The Sarul-Ras that emerged from behind the sheet of leaves was as surprised as Orell was. His wide, orange eyes stared at him through a slightly smudged mask of war paint resembling some kind of animal, his forehead and cheeks bearing two addition l pairs of eyes and his mouth being elongated up to his pointed ears with painted teeth jutting out of it. He wore no upper clothing, showing the three gashes on his chest that were covered with a green paste. The wounds must have been the reason why he was not at the ritual.  
The Sarul-Ras said something unintelligible, his face showing a confused expression.  
“He wants to know what you are doing here,” Gnarl said, his voice strained with nervousness.  
Orell didn't know what to say. He didn't understand the elf's language. A grin and a shrug was everything Orell could think of on the spot, then a gesture towards the bridge he was about to cross. The elf looked at Orell in mild bewilderment, but didn't seem to react hostile to the 'answer'.  
Then he saw the spear.  
The bewilderment quickly changed back into confusion, mixed with anger this time, as the elf gesticulated at the spear and harshly asked a question. Orell raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, still trying to defuse the situation, as little the chance for this was. Maybe he could still pass off as the village idiot or someone recovering from brain damage who had lost his ability to speak.  
The Sarul-Ras repeated his question, only it was with pure anger this time. Gnarl informed that the spear Orell took was a sacred ritual weapon out of all things. As worry snuck onto Orell's face, the elf suddenly looked to the side and took in a breath, to call for the others.   
He had barely managed a scream, when one of the Greens knocked the air out of his lungs and prevented any future screams by clawing his throat out. Then he kicked the elf off the platform.  
„Master, run,“ the Green said when he turned around to Orell, wide-eyed.  
Orell didn't need to be told twice. He shortly glanced back, then hastened down the bridge after the Greens, leaving the dark wisps of his dissolved illusion behind. The headache increased to new levels from the running, but he couldn't stop now. The wounded Sarul-Ras might not have been able to alert the others, but the Greens weren't able to check the path ahead any more. While every Sarul-Ras the Minions encountered was thrown to their deaths by shoves and stabs in the legs, the surprise suppressing every kind of resistance, not every elf who saw them was in reach. Soon, there was shouting behind them and the first daggers were thrown after them. To their luck, none of the elves were carrying bows.  
„Sire, don't dilly-dally!“  
Orell wasn't sure how long he could keep up with the Greens. He felt reminded of his escape from  the Golden City’s dungeons , only that this time it wasn't the weakness from rotting in the dungeons hampering him – and the environment didn't hide him from sight this time. The scaffolding led a downwards-spiralling path around the giant tree's trunk, which was currently between them and the settlement. But it led further counter-clockwise, the four Greens being too busy with running and taking out any bystanders to check the branching-off bridges, until the village came into sight again, a good deal further above them.  
The altitude was not an obstacle for the arrows. While the multitude of vines and leaves were providing cover, Orell heard several arrows clanking against his armour. The Greens, somehow able to look at the path ahead and the elves above at the same time, were running in erratic patterns and jumping from vine to platform to bridge in order to make themselves hard-to-hit targets. Still, several of them sustained gashes from being grazed by arrows and one of them ran with a shaft stuck underneath the skin of his back.  
After the minute that had felt like an eternity to him, the last of the Sarul-Ras bowmen vanished behind the giant tree's trunk again.  
„Sire, you can't stop now!“ Gnarl shouted when he noticed Orell to go slower.  
„I... don't know... how long I can keep up,“ Orell pressed out panting. „My head, it... still hurts... dammit.“ The combined effects of the strain from running downwards in full armour, talking and the pounding in his head reacting to all that including the pulses coming from the tree made him stumble, dangerously close to the ledge.  
The shouting coming from above crept closer.  
„You have to pull yourself together! Mortis can heal a concussion but he is powerless when reviving dead masters!“  
Orell felt the increasing urge to hurl an insult at the advisor, but preferred to direct his resources to running, as the urge to hurl his stomach contents at the inside of his helmet was increasing as well from all the exertion. He wasn't sure how long he could keep running like that. He wasn't even sure if he would manage to reach the ground before his legs would give out. And then there was the part where the Sarul-Ras settlement would come around the tree trunk again and the arrows with it.  
„This way,“ Talon hissed and waved. He was standing close to a bridge leading away from the trunk. While Orell was grateful not  to have to deal with the arrows again and especially putting a bit of distance between himself and the tree's pounding, he wasn't sure what the Greens were doing. The bridge was thin, barely more than several strung-together vines, leading to several connected platforms hardly bigger than the bridge itself.   
„What are you green gutless gadflies doing, letting your Master fall to his death or serving him to the Sarul-Ras entangled on a vine platter?“ Gnarl seemed to have a similar opinion about using this airy scaffolding as an escape route as Orell.  
But the Greens kept insisting on using this route and the shouts coming from the upper parts of the spiralling platform kept getting louder.  
To Orell's surprise, they didn't go far. Talon told him to hold on to a thick vine that came from the platform he stood on, then the Greens started to cut the vines attached to said platform, using their stone daggers, and in one case, bare teeth and claws.   
Now Orell understood what they were planning. Ignoring Gnarls frantic swearing about the Greens endangering their master with such an outrageous plan, he used the serrated side of the short spear to aid any Green in its reach while still holding on to the vine with one arm. While he knew how ridiculous and dangerous the plan was, it still felt safer than running the entire way down the tree. There simply was no way he could escape the Sarul-Ras, be it either by them overtaking him or him fainting before hand .   
The platform began to shake and dip already, when the pursuers finally came into sight. The Minions tripled their efforts, but one of the elves was faster. Taking the distance between the spiralling platform to where Orell was standing in a single leap, he nearly knocked off one of the Greens and went straight for their master. Orell defended himself for worse than better with his unfamiliar spear. The armour had to take the brunt from the strange weapon that looked like a wooden sword with embedded animal teeth instead of a blade.  
_ Giblet deserves an award if I survive this _ , he thought. What saved him in the end wasn't the armour, but the platform. With it having been destabilized already, the impact of the elf had torn several vines the Greens were working on, from where it took only a few more to cut through to get the result the Greens were desiring. The platform became loose and swung away from the tree and the Sarul-Ras' reach. The warrior on the platform dropped his tooth sword and held on to dear life on the loose vines forming the platform's border. Orell, who hadn't let go of his vine during the short fight, immediately took advantage of the situation and stabbed the Sarul-Ras in the hand to let him fall to his death. He followed another elf, who attempted to jump on the platform as well, but due to a matter of misfortune, took off the same moment the platform was cut loose.   
The platform's trajectory took Orell and the four Greens through a layer of leaves and ended in a tangle of more vines. Gnarl, who was continuously swearing throughout the time it took the Greens to cut the platform loose, had changed his opinion by now.  
„I hate to say this, but your idea was brilliant! What would I give for every Minion having a functioning brain between their ears...“  
One of the lauded Greens shot a fanged grin in Orell's direction, then returned to the business of cutting vines again. The Greens had been using the vines in their own settlement to transport their Hive and supplies, as well as Orell, down to the forest floor when they left. Their current work in using the strung-up platform as an escape device showed that they applied pretty much the same technique as they had used during the morning. Considering how mindnumbingly stupid Hanky and the other young Browns assigned to guard Faairdal were, Minion intelligence was most likely a question of age and experience.   
Experience Orell didn't have – after some moments to regain his senses from the wild swinging he did aid the Greens in cutting the vines, but only those the Minions were working on themselves, as he didn't want to risk cutting the wrong ones. Soon, the platform became loose again and plummeted down several metres in a free fall, before swinging to the left in a wide arc and through another layer of leaves that grew on a fanning branch of a giant tree. Orell shook his head to get some of the blood-red leaves away from his eyes that had gotten into the helmet's visor. The view the leaves revealed made him inhale sharply.   
The ground was finally visible. The platform was dangling a distance away from the tree they had escaped from, where the scaffolding connected the treetop settlement to the ground. The space between the massive tree trunks was relatively empty and devoid of branches and leaves obscuring the view, not a single Sarul-Ras to be seen.  
The only problem was the platform still being about ten metres above the ground and the few vines still attached to it were all spanned taut. Gnarl could be heard sighing over the Shroud, but he abstained from commenting.  
„There!“ one of the Greens called out. His clawed finger pointed at a pond below, with a wide area around it that was turned into mud by the many animal traces surrounding it. While close, it was not directly underneath the platform.   
„Oh great. This morning, I saw an Overlord being lowered to the ground on ropes like a piece of ship cargo. This afternoon, I will be seeing an Overlord swinging around with some Minions like a pant-soiling child. I fear for the evening already.“  
With combined efforts, it was easy to get the platform swinging over the puddle. Getting to the ground was still an entirely different matter. One of the Greens, who was dangling on the remains of vines beneath the platform, gave the signal to jump and all of them let go at once. Orell had to force himself doing it; the situation was all too similar to the one time he had nearly fallen off the snaking trees when one of the camouflaged spiders spooked him. He was prepared for the fall this time, but the impact still made him lose consciousness for a few seconds.   
Taking his helmet off to wipe the mud from his eyes, Orell was greeted by the sight of four mud-splattered, but uninjured and grinning Greens.   
„Made it“, one of them cheered. Another one turned around and emitted a strange screech instead. A similar screech answered from the distance. The time Orell needed to get back onto his feet was enough time for the answerer to arrive. In fact, it was a siz e able group of Green Minions, with Wellsy, several spider riders and the Green with the tentacled creature being among them. Their presence unfortunately coincided with the stuffed feeling in his head increasing proportionally with the amount of Greens, which made his already present headache even worse.  
„Looks like you made it to the ground in one piece, Master,“ Gnarl said in a forced tone, trying to forget what he had just seen. „Now hurry to the ruin and return home.“  
Wellsy was staring into the direction of the tree trunk with the scaffolding, his ears straight up and their tips twitching. „Not enough time.“  
„What do you mean with 'not enough time'? It's either going to the Netherworld or going to be captured!“  
„Going to get elves off heels. Then return to Nether.“  
„Fine, Wellsy,“ Gnarl sighed, resigned. „Master, I guess you will have to play fox and hound for a bit. Better to get up and moving now, so you have a bigger lead.“  
Orell didn't need an extra cue. The unmoving air of the Infected Forest was now carrying the shouts of the Sarul-Ras descending the tree to his ears as well.   
He commanded the Greens to spread out in a circle to leave the mud around the pond, making sure several Greens were walking behind him to obscure his own tracks. For good measure, he swept the horde through the mud a few times, so it was impossible to tell where they have left the pond. From there, he moved away from the scaffolded tree.  
Wellsy caught up wi th him. „Master, better go left. More undergrowth there.“  
„That would be a good idea, Sire,“ Gnarl agreed. „It would bot h allow you to hide your traces better and plan an ambush.“  
„Or run into an ambush myself,“ Orell replied. While he hoped the Sarul-Ras wouldn't catch up to him, he knew all too well what else the undergrowth might hide.  
The undergrowth Wellsy had mentioned soon came into sight. First it started with the mushrooms and animal-plants growing taller, then with treacherous roots winding over and beneath the ground and finally ending with a full-blown snaking tree pocket.  
Before the trees would swallow and hide him from the pulsing orange light dominating the firetree groves, Orell allowed himself a short glance back. And saw a Sarul-Ras standing on an elevated tree root and wildly gesticulating backwards.  
They had been spotted before being able to hide.  
„Master, looks like the fox and hound game has ended, now it's the hound and wolf game.“  
„What do you mean by that, Gnarl?“  
„Ambushes, traps, false traces, separating the group of your pursuers and taking them out one by one. The best things you can do with a horde of Greens, aside from letting them slaughter sheep, of course. Greens can climb and jump well, turn invisible and have a talent for finding the enemy's vital organs.“  
Orell clumsily climbed over a tree trunk blocking his way. Gnarl's suggestion was easier said than done. The Sarul-Ras would most likely use the snaking trees to their advantage and would be able to easily follow his tracks of flattened moss and crushed mushrooms to encircle him and the Minions before starting their attack, while he was bound to the ground and his headache wasn't going to go away soon. Unless...  
He called Wellsy to his side with a mental command. „Who in this group are the best and most experienced fighters?“ he asked quietly.  
Wellsy whispered back in a volume that made Orell's question sound like a shout in comparison. „Me, Talon, Sinomi, Blot and Sap.“  
„Tell them that everyone takes a group of seven and forwards every command I give them. The rest stays with me.“  
Wellsy thought a moment about Orell's plan. „Sap is bad idea for that.“ He gesticulated at the Green riding the tentacled creature. „Good fighter but terrible leader. Too airheaded.“  
„Four groups are enough. When I give you the signal, disperse with your group and make sure to leave tracks. Mislead the elves as good as you can. Sinomi's group stays here.“ With this, Orell dismissed the green leader. He would manage to command the rest of the Greens himself.  
The four groups formed on the go, led by Wellsy, Talon, and two Greens he didn't know yet, one with dark spots covering his back and the other wearing a tuft of multicoloured bird feathers on the tip of his tail. Orell sent three of the four groups into different directions, one by one. The fourth group was sent up the trunk of a snaking tree after the third had vanished from sight.  
„Sire, if you are planning an ambush, it's best to place them on that loop over there where they can hide behind the curtains of overhanging moss further to the left.“ As soon as the Greens took their positions, they vanished before Orell's eyes, leaving no trace of their presence, save for a weak stench of rotting carcass which was hardly noticeable in the Infected Forest's own smell. The remaining Greens were distributed in the undergrowth or underneath low-hanging tree trunks.   
The trap was ready. Now he needed to prepare the bait.   
The depression directly in front of a snaking tree trunk vanishing in the earth was a perfect place for his plans: well-visible and the back secured. Orell sat down into it, dragging himself on his arms on the ground for a bit, until he spotted a handy twiner growing over the ground he severed with the spear and then put his left foot underneath it. Then he waited and listened.  
  
Sinomi couldn't believe what she was seeing. While she didn't have that many masters to do comparisons with, this one being her first one actually, she did feel that this one was positively insane. Setting up an ambush by placing Greens on elevated, hidden places she did understand, but using  _ himself  _ as bait? In her opinion, a few conspic u ous traces or even a Minion would have been enough to get the attention of the enemy. At least a Green would be fast enough to get away when the elves came, but a Master wouldn't be able to climb, would run slowly and create so much rattling in the process he could be heard from the other end of the forest. And yet, there he lay, pretending to have twisted an ankle by stumbling over a root.  
She heard the elves coming a while later. The first one of them all but slid into sight, having to stop abruptly from running the moment he saw the Master. Eight others emerged from the undergrowth shortly after. They eyed the Master warily, but didn't even attempt to jump right at his throat. Instead, they started to argue.   
One of them, who wore bright orange, wide pants and blue face paint barked something in the native Sarul-Ras language.   
_ What an idiot. We should put him out of his misery right now. _   
The elf that came into sight first barked back.  _ Kratkhal Mes wants him living. He is wounded and the Shahiks have left him, he doesn't pose any danger.  
He has stolen the ritual spear. Which is still in his hands.  
Distract him, hit him on the head and drag him back then?  
Why don't we inform the others first? I can still smell the stench of Shahiks in the air and that armour looks heavy.  
Not so fast. I want to take a closer look at him first. The we can call the others. _   
The Master moved around and groaned. The nine elves closed in on him, their weapons pointing at the Master, all their attention on him and the stolen spear in his hand. Sinomi watched the scene with interest, one of her ears swivelling around and listening for other, hidden elves in the vicinity.  
„Wait, wait. I give up. Do you hear me, I give up.“ The Master raised his hands. „I will follow you back to the tree.“  
The elves stared at each other perplexed.  
_ What does he say?   
He is yielding.  
Are you sure? This is ridiculous.  
The armoured ones yield all the time. Why should this one be different? _   
The elf with the orange pants shouted at the Master to lay the weapon down. After the Master did just shake his head, another one with a skull on his head took the spear out of his hand. The Master, his hands still raised, shuffled around, trying to get up. The next moment Sinomi felt his command, the command to attack.   
Greens flew out of the surrounding undergrowth, some getting between the elves and the Master, the rest jumped the elves from behind. Sinomi and her group fell on the elves from above. She landed on orange pants’ back, knocking him down and slitting his neck arteries in the fall. And now she understood that the Master wasn't insane in the slightest.  
  
The fight was over in a few seconds. None of the Sarul-Ras were able to lift their weapons or even scream for reinforcements when the Greens took them by surprise. Orell gave the Minions a bit of time to extract the lifeforce, pilfer the corpses and himself to take a more familiar weapon, then gave the three groups he sent away the mental command to return while he hurried on.  
„You know, Sire, I would have used a less risky way to lead the elves into this trap, like an arrangement of interesting tracks for them to look at or a Minion you don't need, but seems like it worked just fine,“ Gnarl commented.  
„The tracks probably wouldn't have distracted them enough and the Minion they would have likely killed on sight. They already took me alive once, so I think they will try that again.“  
“I wouldn't be so sure, Sire. Never trust an elf with a pulse.”  
The moment the groups caught up with him again, Orell addressed their leaders. „Did you see any elves following you?“   
Wellsy shook his head, but Talon replied. „Had three on our heels.“  
„Did you kill them, did they kill some of you?“  
„No, were too far away, could only hear them.“  
At least three more Sarul-Ras, now being led onto on their tracks. He wasn't too sure if the decoy technique would work again, as the nine corpses were likely seen. He needed a plan.  
Underneath an arch of a snaking tree trunk was a small chasm, formed by massive, overgrown rock slabs. Not wanting to risk a delay by walking around it and having to climb over the stone structures, Orell ran straight through it, all Minions following on his heels. On the other end, he heard a familiar squeaking.  
A lone gnome was standing there. Dressed in a gleaming armour made out of exoskeletons and backlit by golden glowing mushrooms, he did resemble the way paladin heroes were painted and even had a little semblance to the colossal Punarim statue in the Golden City's temple district. The small humanoid squeaked in anger, waving his tiny weapon.  
„Sire, this louse-ridden pest is challenging you!“ Gnarl shouted. „You shouldn't give this matter a rest but show him who is truly in charge!“  
Orell found accepting the gnome's challenge ridiculous and, since the gnomes were a part of the Aurenthurian citizens, he was adverse to fighting them. But this one happened to be in his way and his loud, high-pitched squeaking distracted him from thinking about how to deal with the Sarul-Ras following him, aside from making his head hurt more than even the loud pounding of the giant trees did.   
Without slowing down, he kicked the gnome and let him fly squealing into the underbrush about ten metres away. The armour, small size and the moss would probably ensure the gnome wasn't hurt. Then he stopped and looked back. The moment the squeaking had stopped an idea had formed. Orell ran back into the chasm.  
A few mental commands later, the spider riders took position on the chasm's walls, after they had spun several near-invisible threads on face height. After Gnarl suggested that the Sarul-Ras might move on the top and pelt him with arrows from the cliff's borders, several Greens were moved there and more plugged the exit. Orell himself held a silken thread in his hand, while the other end was being held by a Green close to the chasm's entrance.   
With a tug the thread slipped out of Orell's hand. This was the cue to run to the chasm's other end. The Sarul-Ras saw him and shouted, sending a few arrows after him. Soon, the soft thudding of their bare feet could be heard on the moss and dead leaves covering the chasm's ground. Orell didn't turn around, even when the elves suddenly started to shout with surprise when they ran into the threads and the spider riders attacked them the moment they stopped to wipe the silk from their faces.  
The Greens blocking the exit parted to let him through and then followed him when Orell gave all of them the mental command to return. A wild, furious sputtering and squeaking neared him from the left, then something hard collided with his shin and flew away into the underbrush with a squeal when Orell accidentally kicked the gnome a second time on the run.  
  
They reached the other end of the snaking tree pocket without any more Sarul-Ras or dangerous native fauna encounters. Before Orell dared to go into the open space of the firetree grove he allowed himself a short rest to regain his breath and calm his head. He was on the verge of throwing up again, something he didn't want to try out while still having a helmet on his head. The Greens spread out to keep watch in the meantime.  
When they were in the open again, Orell realized how stupid this was.  
A sizeable group of Sarul-Ras came from the left, shouting and waving their weapons. One of them drew a strange flute and blew into it, emitting a high-pitched, obnoxious sound. Orell turned to the right to get away from the Sarul-Ras, but went straight for the snaking tree pocket's outskirts again the moment he heard the answer to the flute. The Greens quickly overtook him, fear spread on their faces. The rushing of the wings was already  audi ble when he vanished back into the darkness.   
„Well, that was close. While I can appreciate a good impaling or two, it is never that funny when it happens to your own master, Sire.“  
„Gnarl, rather than making such comments, you could maybe help me with getting the elves off my heels and myself away from here. If they manage to trap me inside this snaking tree pocket, it's over.“  
„I would suggest, in the worst case you send all your Greens at the elves and have them deal with the problem while you get away, but something tells me you will not appreciate this approach.“  
„That is correct. Any ideas that don't involve killing the entire horde?“  
„Let me think. The spider riders maybe could use their silk to cover the ground behind you in it and slow your persistent pursuers down, then- forget the silk, there is something much better!“  
Orell suddenly had to gag because of an obnoxious stench filling the air that made a Green smell like a flower in comparison.  
„What?“  
„Do you see these spiny bloated plants dotting the ground and trunks? Those are poison pods, possibly mutated to have become even more potent. Let the Greens take as many of them as they can carry, they are not harmed by their effects.“  
Orell sent the Greens towards the yellowish lumps, as Gnarl had told. The first of them returned not a second too late, as the first Sarul-Ras had caught up with them.  
A mental command and the first poison pods were hurled at the elves. Compared to the Reds, the Green Minions had a terrible aim, but it didn't matter, as the pods exploded upon impact into large, green clouds. Several Sarul-Ras fell over immediately, those that were at a greater distance started to scream when their skin suddenly turned green and grew blisters. Those outside of the poison's range fell back and swerved to the left to avoid the spreading cloud.   
Orell ran in a generous circle around the area where the poison pods grew and sent the Greens to gather them again and again. The moment they left the snaking tree pocket and ran out into the open to take their original course again, every Green was loaded with at least four of the pods and threw them at every elf that dared to come close. Sap in particular seemed to have the time of his life, the tentacled creature's body being nearly invisible beneath the amount of poison pods loaded onto it while it zigzagged between the horde and the elves, occasionally spraying its own poison at close targets.  
The Sarul-Ras backed away when they saw what the Greens were carrying with them and instead changed their tactics by trying to drive Orell out of the group of Greens or at least have him run into the poisonous clouds himself. But whenever he was either forced to get into the proximity of the clouds or a Green threw a pod in front of him to get at the attacking elves, the Minions in his proximity spread their arms, a green light travelled over their bodies and the poisonous cloud was gone.   
The whoopers circled the area and screeched angrily, ignoring the flute bearer's commands, especially after one of them  had tried to dive down into the middle of the cluster of the Greens and was met with several poison pods to the wings.   
There was a long trail of green clouds following Orell and the Minions already, littered with Sarul-Ras that were either dead or writhing in agony, and still they didn't back off. And slowly but surely, the Greens would run out of poison pods.  
„Master, there!“ A Green pointed to the right. The area they were running through was becoming more uneven, much to Orell's chagrin, but the place the Minion was pointing at was a field of overgrown boulders, partially unearthed and partially covered by the massive roots of the firetrees. Underneath one of the roots, a gaping black hole was visible.  
„Way to cave system, can escape there!“ Wellsy added.  
„That must be the karst caves that elven guide was babbling about, or at least a part of it. I'm not sure if they will be an improvement compared to the forest or not, but right now we don't have much of a choice,“ Gnarl said.  
Using his last bits of power left, Orell sprinted to the ingress underneath the root. The elves, already keeping themselves at a distance to avoid being hit by the poison pods, fell even more back, indignation spreading on their painted faces. One of them, full of anger, ran ahead, spread his arms, not dissimilar to the gnome in the chasm, and started to shout something. He didn't even back off when Sap steered his eight-legged tentacle creature at him and ran him over.   
Orell noticed a lot of bones in strange arrangements and several bone totems close by the cave, but didn't pay any heed to them. He skidded to a halt once he was swallowed by the cave's darkness, then turned around to face the pursuers. From there, the whoopers were posing no danger and the Greens needed far less of their dwindling poison pod supplies to keep the elves at a distance. But rather than attacking, the elves stopped before the bone arrangements and totems and shouted in anger. Those with bows had their arrows on the bowstrings, but had lowered them without any inclination to fire.  
And then, unexpectedly, they started to back off. One by one turned their backs to the cave and walked away, occasionally looking back and shooting glares at Orell and the Minions in the cave.  
„Sire, looks like you just entered a place the Sarul-Ras consider taboo. Now that I call luck. Well then, let's desecrate their gods' moist, dark hole as thoroughly as possible and find a different way out of here, best as far away from the Sarul-Ras settlement as possible. Wellsy, you seem to know about these caves, you will give the directions.“  
„No,“ Orell interrupted. „The cave system might be full of unpleasant creatures I don't want to run into.“  
„And so you will get out of it and walk through a forest full of unpleasant elves to run into?“  
„I will wait here, close to the entrance. My head is killing me and after all this running, falling and fighting, I would really like to have a thorough rest.“ 


	13. A turbulent road home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this part, Orell walks through a cave for a change, gets on a boat trip, meets a horrendous howler and finally goes back to the Netherworld in the end. Meanwhile, Ghost Fay is high out of her mind while Darth Vader and his paladin storm troopers arrive at the forest's borders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this in between working on my dissertation, so it took forever and the quality is lacking, too. This is also the end of the second arc, as it is already long enough as it is and the second part of the Infected Forest sequence will be thematically a bit different and hopefully more entertaining because it won't consist of just walking through the forest any more.

In contrary to any lingering fears still present, the Sarul-Sas didn't return.  
Orell wanted to stay in the cave's entrance until his pounding headaches had subsided completely. While he rested, leant against the rough limestone wall and half of the armour scattered around him in the layer of bluish moss, the Greens tentatively started to go out to explore the surroundings. Some went deeper into the cave to return with a grotesque glowing mushroom or a large, pale worm later, a few of the bolder Greens ventured outside of the cave, with no one having to report the presence of any elves nearby. Others stayed inside, close to Orell, where they tended to the injuries they had sustained during the escape or repaired and improved their equipment.   
Gnarl, meanwhile, became increasingly pushy about them moving on, but Orell retorted that the experience of all that running with the pain in his head gnawing on his concentration and occasionally  his very consciousness was something he did not want to repeat, should he run into something living deeper in the caves. A few hours would be enough, he thought.   
Hours turned into days. The Greens went ever further on their exploration trips, both to the outside and the deeper caverns, bringing back new knowledge about the cave's layout and what lived within with every trip. The injured Greens soon joined in the exploration trips as well; it was surprising how little time it took them to heal completely.  
Orell was bored out of his wits and antsy because of the looming danger of the forest's destruction by the Aurenthurian empire, but his health had priority this time. Mortis had provided some input on his condition and said that rest was indispensable, lest he wanted it to become worse or have any permanent damages. And so, Orell spent the time with thoroughly cleaning his armour, planning his further progress and mending an infected leech bite on his leg. The Greens were a great help on the latter, as they offered him a bulbous type of mushroom that was filled with a brownish, jelly-like substance said to aid in healing. After a few careful tests on uninjured skin to rule out any unpleasant side effects the remedy might have, Orell applied it and saw it working wonders, demanding the Greens to bring more to apply the substance to his myriads of itching insect bites.   
Aside from the curative fungi, the Greens were also bringing food. Orell preferred to keep to the glowing pillbugs, not wanting to risk another episode of hallucinations like in the Greens' settlement again, occasionally taking some of the fruit the Greens brought which he did recognize.  
Late into the third day, Orell felt like he could continue.  
“Good, Master, I already feared you were about to grow roots in there. It was getting very boring in the Throne Room already, the Browns started to bet on rat fights, Lady Juno wants to extend her decoration efforts to here and worst of all, Quaver has gotten musical instruments from Nordberg and is forming a  _ band _ ! Can you believe this, Sire?“  
Orell didn't answer to Gnarl's complaints, as he did hear Quaver's rehearsals and Gnarl's consequent groaning over the Shroud for the entire last day already.  
“What direction do you suggest, Gnarl?”  
“Further inside, unfortunately. We don't want to risk you to be ambushed as soon as you leave the cave's proximity and around here, there is too much mandelite around to risk sending a Gate and have it jammed again.”  
“What about the information of the Greens, they never saw any Sarul-Ras around when they left the cave.”  
“They are Greens, that's why. They are small, camouflaged and don't have the need to cover themselves in loud armour. The  fewer risks you take regarding those wretched elves, the better.”  
Orell sighed. The mandelite ore seemed to be a material so potent he had already started thinking about using it for his own goals against Aurenthuria, the only thing he needed was to know how exactly it worked and how to utilize it. If the ore managed to disable the Gate network of an ancient bastion with incredible magical capabilities, he could only imagine how much it could affect the magic of the paladins. It would mean no more nasty surprises like the fight against Kael had held.  
“Well then.” A mental command called the Greens that were loitering in the cave's entrance to his side, accentuated by the horn's bellow coming from thin air. Orell looked for the large, feathered Green among the horde.  
“Gnarl had said you are familiar with these caves,” Orell addressed the Green horde leader. “I need to get out of them in another place, preferably as far away from the Sarul-Ras as possible. And preferably away from these purple rocks, too.”  
Wellsy nodded enthusiastically. “Is a way out, but far. Long walk.”  
  
The light coming from the glowing fungi and insects outside soon vanished and was replaced by the glowing of fungi and insects inhabiting the cave. The cave fungi were mostly mouldlike, covering the rock walls like a sheet of thick-stranded spider webs, sometimes pulsating and crawling over the surface in front of Orell's eyes. The layer of greenish-glowing fungi was inhabited by worms and slugs of different shapes and colours, which were grazing trails into the mould and leaving a layer of slime behind.  
The life inside the cave was surprisingly simple and stayed small, with very little diversion from the mould and worms. Sometimes they passed a firetree root breaking through the cave's walls and adding its pulsating orange light to the glow of the fungi, sometimes Orell could spot a small, wimpy fern or sapling gathering a hold in between the rocks. Once they were walking past a black, flat-bodied and multilegged creature clinging to the ceiling and catching the worms writhing in the mould layer.   
The Greens weren't alerted by the creature and, save for a few casting a short glance up, ignored it. In general, they were walking at a quick pace, hissing and gibbering among themselves and occasionally snacking on the worms or the occasional fruiting body of a mushroom and the spider riders were running along the walls or the ceiling more often than on the ground. They had several days to explore the caves in the entrance's proximity and apparently hadn't found anything worth hiding themselves from.   
Unfortunately, their carefreeness changed the moment they entered a big, dark cavern. First Orell was confused to see an open starry sky above, but squinting his eyes he could make out the cave's ceiling, where small, brightly-glowing worms were sitting in webs woven with slime strands, waiting for their unsuspecting insect prey to be drawn to their light. The echoing sound of water droplets falling gave the place an eerie, haunting atmosphere, as if the sounds were hiding the movements of something much bigger.  
“Didn't explore further,” one of the Greens whispered. “Watch step, Master.”  
Orell wasn't sure if the Green was serious, he was hardly able to see the ground in the darkness. Focusing on one of the Greens walking in front of him, he simply resorted to step where the Minion was stepping to avoid any accidents involving loose rocks or cracks in the ground. Wellsy led along the cavern's wall, with the group spreading out into a long line, everyone avoiding to step into the open space as much as possible. While he was sure it was just an effect of the draught in the cave and the mixture of falling droplets and the distant sound of the firetree pounding, Orell couldn't get rid of the feeling that it all resembled the breathing of a large creature being inside the cave.  
Whether it was an actual creature or just the product of Orell's overflowing imagination became irrelevant as soon as the Minions vanished in a tunnel branching off the cavern's side. The oddly round shape, the broken walls and the remains of petrified wood in between the rubble covering the tunnel's ground revealed it as the root hole from a firetree. If Orell's memory served him right, the Infected Forest was fifty years old at most, only having started to grow the moment the Cataclysm released its foul magic into the world. And still, the forest grew, thrived, died and grew anew on the remains as if it had been doing this from the beginning of time. Orell decided to think about this oddity another time, as the root hole became very steep and demanded all his concentration for climbing.  
The root hole intersected with a regular part of the cave system, creating three tunnels to choose from. Wellsy examined the entrances to all three of them, staring into the darkness with his ears perked up, then chose the one branching off to the left. The Greens all climbed past Orell, who entered the tunnel the last after some struggle with a few particularly clingy roots. When he turned around to give the intersection he just left a last look, he heard a strange, distant howling coming from the upper tunnel. This time he was sure it came from something alive.  
The chosen tunnel grew ever tighter, until Orell had to crouch down to move through it and earned a few comments from Gnarl, before it widened up again, until they were in a cavern again. This time, there was much more light providing visibility and the glowing worms weaving their slime webs on the ceiling were absent, as the entire ceiling was absent itself.   
It appeared to hav e collapsed a long time ago, some of its remains standing as monoliths weathered into bizarre shapes. Larger structures, likely the stone pillars that had once supported the ceiling were present as well, giving the space an appearance reminding of a stone forest where only the massive trunks of the trees had remained. The ground, boulders and rock pillars were all covered in a thick layer of ferns, mosses and lichen, with numerous twiners snaking over the ground and connecting the rock pillars to each other. Aside from the occasional bush, larger plants seemed to be mostly absent, the snaking trees winding their ways high above the collapsed cave.   
“Hm, this must be the karst that elf was talking about. Better look out, Master, while the cave was often too tight for anything large to get into, here it is definitely not the case.”  
Orell agreed with Gnarl's sentiments. “Blot, take eight Greens and scour the area ahead. Try to be as inconspic u ous as possible and go immediately back to me when you see anything that might be of danger. Do not try to pick any fights.”  
Immediately, a group of nine split from the cluster of Greens around Orell and ran forwards, using every cover the thick underbrush of ferns and overgrown rock structures provided and turning invisible the moment they stopped. Wellsy looked at the dispersing Greens for a moment, then resumed his path, with the rest following him.   
At first, they didn't encounter anything of interest. Orell did see several creatures that looked suspicious to him, like a grotesque animal that seemed to consist only of legs stalking over one of the tall limestone pillars or a giant millipede-like creature lying curled up and sleeping, but the scouting Greens kept staying ahead, indicating that neither posed any danger. Just as Orell was thinking that the karst was not as dangerous as he or Gnarl had assumed, a Green from Blot's group ran up to him to tell he was wrong.  
„Looks like something has been spotted ahead, Sire. I suggest to proceed with caution.“  
Before Orell could say anything, Blot returned as well. “Master, problem ahead. Bottleneck with spiky goose in it.” Several Greens started to stare into the direction Blot came from, their ears flat on their necks.   
Orell sighed internally. As always, problems always had to position themselves in places he couldn't avoid. As silently as he could, he crept forwards, using the stone pillars and occasional snaking tree trunks as cover. He found the rest of the scouting group hiding behind a fallen, overgrown pillar that was fractured in several places. Getting next to the Greens, he peeked through one of the cracks.   
He was already familiar with the creature that the Greens had found.   
A large head with a hooked, toothed beak, two powerful hind legs but no wings, a long spiky tail and a body covered in thick, segmented armour plates. In between two of the plates in the shoulder area, Orell could see the shaft of an arrow sticking out. Taking a closer look, he realized the arrow wasn't one of the all-too-familiar Sarul-Ras arrows or the kind of arrows Yerael had been using. It was a shaft of yellowish wood with feathers now frayed and filthy, but it was still visible they were once white and neatly trimmed. The kind of feathers used by the Aurenthurian nobility.   
This armoured bird creature must have had a run-in with the hunting party count Doran's son had been leading. It was visibly discomforted by the arrow, likely the wound was infected and festering.  
“Hm, when there is one thing I know about large animals is that even the most docile ones turn into raging beasts when wounded,” Gnarl said. “And since this one is already wounded, it is best to take it out before it has noticed you. Send the Greens to climb the limestone pillars around it and then dish out a bit of death from above, Master.”  
“What about the armour plates?” Orell asked as quietly as he could.  
“Don't worry, if there is one thing Greens are good at, aside from being reverse air fresheners, it's getting into the nooks and crannies of armour like blackflies.”  
A few mental commands later, and the Greens had taken their positions, just the way Gnarl had proposed. Orell took a last look at the 'spiky goose', as Blot had described the creature. The head and tail were hanging low, the eyes slowly blinking and the legs were spaced far apart, as if the creature had trouble keeping itself upright. It was unlikely it would put up a notable fight. He gave the command to attack.  
The creature reacted slowly, only started to move when its back was covered in Minions. But when it reacted, it did react.  
It's roar shook the air, distorted, reflected by the many rock pillars and absorbed by the moss layers as it slammed its spiky tail on the ground. Several Greens fell off, more followed when the creature shook itself, the armour plates providing little to hold on for the Minions. The spider riders among them had better chances of staying on, but some of them along with their spiders were flung off as well. Those who fell off immediately scuttled away and onto high ground to attack again, but some unfortunate ones landed badly and were disoriented. To the luck of most of the fallen, the bird creature paid no heed to them and continued to try to shake off those still sitting on its back, but to the misfortune of few, the bird creature accidentally stepped on several of them. When the skull of one Green was crushed under its heavy claw, the revenge came immediately in the form of the Minion's cheek spines finding their way into the bird creature's foot and making it stumble against one of the limestone pillars. The distraction provided enough time for the Greens still sitting on the creature's back to dig their claws into the soft skin between the armour plates. Flailing in pain and trumpeting, the bird creature decided to take the gloves off. Reaching around, it grabbed one of the Greens with its beak, then violently shook him before throwing him onto the ground and ending his life with a stomp. Just as it was about to pluck off the next Green, most of which had decided to move away from its head to avoid sharing the previous one's grisly fate, a rock hit its face.  
Taking its attention off the sources of pain dotting its back, the creature threw its head into the direction of the new nuisance. It saw a bipedal, upright thing clad in plates of a shiny material waving its arms, jumping around and screaming.   
The creature remembered.  
The Greens and spiders tearing away at its back suddenly forgotten, the creature roared in pure rage at Orell, then set its mass into motion. Ignoring its weakness from the arrow wound and the pain from the new wounds, it charged at a surprising speed, still roaring.  
“Here, I am here!” Orell shouted, waving his arms to keep the creature's attention on him. Seeing the armoured, raging mass rushing into his direction, continuing this got increasingly harder as the desire to run grew. The path of the beast led it right past where Orell wanted it, where Wellsy and the rest were waiting. The Greens became visible the moment they leapt off the stone pillar and onto the spiky goose's back, to fill the places of those shaken off.  
With all its attention focused on Orell and its movement being far less erratic while running, the Greens had it much easier to attack the bird creature's weak spots. As it bled profusely from numerous wounds, Wellsy gave a quick command which made every Green jump off the creature's back. Just a moment later the creature collapsed, its momentum carrying it further forwards. It skidded over the ground and came to a halt in front of the stone pillar Orell was standing on, barely a metre away from its goal. Orell caught a glimpse of the creature's breaking eyes before Gnarl began to shout at him.   
“Master, why in the name of Punarim's shiny golden arse do you always have to use  _ yourself _ as bait? First against the Sarul-Ras, now against this overgrown hedgehog poultry... do you want to give old Gnarl a heart attack?”  
After holding his breath during the moments it was uncertain whether the creature would still be able to reach him or not, Orell exhaled. “There was not enough time to think of a better plan. The creature was starting to kill my Minions.”  
“Sire, Minions are expendable, unlike you. Remember, we had to look forty years to find a suitable master in a world overrun by good like this. Forty years! Making a new Minion from a bit of lifeforce barely takes a minute!” As if to emphasize Gnarl's words, several Greens brought lifeforce orbs to Orell, while others kept extracting more from the massive corpse.  
“Making a new Minion gather experience takes much more than just a minute, Gnarl. And I actually value those Minions.”   
“More than your own life?”  
Orell didn't reply immediately. “Nothing serious has happened to me. We could discuss the 'ifs' and 'whens' forever, but we wouldn't get anywhere.”  
Gnarl only hummed as a reply. Whether it was in agreement or in mockery, Orell couldn't tell.  
  
Getting himself into unnecessary danger or not, the creature did go down less easy than he would have expected, regardless of the infection caused by the arrow weakening it. Looking at the crushed bodies on the ground, he was glad he did not have to deal with a healthy one.   
Three Greens were dead, two additional ones were mangled beyond saving and got finished off by their brethren. Several others were wounded to the point of not being capable of fighting. But those that survived the fight without damage drew their stone daggers and began to dismember the large creature at a speed that would put the most skilled of butchers to shame.  
“Anyway, looks like you don't only have a free pass now, Sire, but also something proper for dinner. And that might be worth the little bit of self-endangerment after all.”  
Orell silently agreed, but covering as much distance as possible before dinner had a higher priority to him right now.  
  
They were on the move as soon as the Greens had tied the chunks of armoured bird meat to their backs. The injured Minions took up the spiders. Orell's initial worries about one Green with a broken leg who didn't get a spider left for him quickly dissipated; using the severed tail spike of the bird creature as a provisory splint, the Minion had gone down onto all fours and appeared to have no trouble keeping up with the rest.  
Wellsy led them to a wide crevice at the base of a broad, fallen and overgrown rock pillar and soon the little light of the Infected Forest was replaced by the greenish glow of the mould covering the cave system's walls again.  
This part of the cave appeared to be more porous than the part before they had entered the spacious cavern lacking a ceiling, with far more tunnels branching off and still with occasional holes leading straight to the surface, where the forest's roots were entering the caves from. Said roots and the uneven ground made walking a challenge; Orell stumbled over roots and slipped off sharp edges protruding from the ground several times. He was glad the armour's boots were made from metal and the Greens appeared to be sure-footed enough to not slice their feet open on the edges, while the eight-legged mounts could spread their weight far enough to not bother where they were stepping.  
A little bit later, when the last ingrowing mass of roots had been passed many minutes ago, he noticed another difference to the first bits of the caves they had crossed. While he did register the sounds of falling water droplets echoing through the tunnels and did feel the occasional cold trickle of one such droplets running through his armour's crevices before, this part of the cave was getting significantly wetter. Water was trickling down the walls in small streams and pooling up in between the jagged rocks on the ground, the existence of which he discovered for the first time by stepping into one of such pools. The fungi growing on the walls were also gradually replaced by green-glowing slime covering the rock in thick layers and hanging off the ceiling in strands, giving the cave an appearance of the inside of the nose of a giant with a cold.   
Black, leech-like creatures as long as a lower arm were crawling over the ground, in and out of the pools. They seemed to be attracted to the meat carried by the Greens and began to climb them with a surprising speed to rasp off the naked flesh. While Orell felt slightly revulsed by the sight, the Greens seemed to be elated, picking off one leech after another and noisily slurped them up. What the Greens didn't pick off, Sap's mount did.  
Something took Orell's attention off the leeches. In between the gurgling of the streams and the resonating falls of water droplets, he could hear rushing, reminiscent of the underground river in The Minion Barracks. An absurd thought snuck into his head, but Gnarl dispelled it before the thought could take foot.  
“Sire, I don't like the sound of it. During my career in Evil, underground streams had never brought anything good with them.”  
And the longer they walked over the sharp rocks and through the pools in between, the louder the rushing grew. The size of the pools grew as well. Soon they were so big the Greens and spiders had to jump from stone to stone to stay out of the water; Orell was surprised to see the Green with the broken leg do so as well, even if he was visibly in pain. He himself had water-soaked underclothing up to his thighs, as he lacked the agility of the Minions or their mounts. Accordingly, he was more than happy when the terrain rose and the water vanished save for shallow streams running over the polished, slime-covered rock.  
All happiness from leaving the pools was wiped off when they reached the top of the inclining tunnel, where it opened into a cavern – and was bisected by a wide, fast underground river, with no way to reach the tunnels continuing at the other side.  
“Well, great”, Orell groaned. “Wellsy, what is this supposed to mean?”  
The green leader stared at a pile of rocks next to the shore of the underground river with drooping ears. “Bridge gone.”  
“Then, do you know a different path?”  
“No, Master. River must be crossed, but other tunnels not known. Will have to search for them and see if can be passed and if they connect into caves on other side.”  
“Well, great”, he groaned again and rubbed his neck. There was no point in being angry at the Green. The only option left was to somehow build a bridge to cross the river, unless he wanted to wait until they had found a different path through the extensive and convoluted cave system.   
Looking at the flotsam at the river's shores, there was enough building material  lying around  for something to replace the natural bridge. It was well-visible that this river entered the caves somewhere from the outside and deposited a lot of its freight on the shores of this cavern, where flat sand banks had formed. There was polished wood, bones, shells, leaves, pieces of twiners and the occasional rotting carcass of the forest's animals littering the bank. One thing that caught Orell's eyes was a large shell having a vague semblance to the shell of a massive tortoise. It looked big enough to fit him and the entire horde of Greens together with their mounts.  
If they could connect the two shores with the vines and attach the shell to them, they would have a ferry.  
Orell didn't want to hesitate. Stepping closer to the pile of flotsam until his boots were filling with water again, he could see there were enough twiners of sufficient length to use. If they could connect the remains of the stone bridge emerging from the rushing waters by tying the vines around them, they would have a link to the other shore in no time. Unfortunately, this would have to wait.  
While the travel was uneventful aside from the unpleasant encounter with the wounded bird creature, the rough terrain was exhausting. And looking back at the Greens, it was visible they were temporarily of no use, either. Every single one of them had been indulging in eating the leeches and there had been a lot of leeches for them to eat.  
A halfways dry spot to rest on was found next to the wall. After a lot of trying, cursing and mostly unhelpful suggestions from Gnarl, Orell managed to make a small, smoky fire with the wet wood and old leaves lying on the river shore and stuck a piece of the salvaged meat from the bird creature on a stick to fry. It was undercooked and tasted like soot, but was still better than nothing and he certainly was not ready to try leech. Most of the Greens were already asleep when he finished his meal. As Orell was trying to do the same, neither the collective snoring of the Minions nor the rushing waters of the river were able to drown out the strange, distant howling coming from the tunnel behind the stream.  
  
In the upper rooms of the Netherworld, someone else was having trouble with sleeping as well and spent their time wandering through the halls. The former Mistress Juno looked at the finished Private Quarters contently. Of course, they weren't the same as when she had lived here for the first time. The decorations were old, the intact furniture sparse and the repairs done by the Minions didn't make up for the damaged furniture. But despite the limited resources, this place was looking like proper private quarters rather than the ruinous state they were in when she arrived. Despite her age, she still had taste and Scruffy was enjoyable to work with. They had a lot in common, she and the head courtier. Only if Gnarl would finally allow her to whip the Throne Room into shape as well...  
Juno passed a colourful gobelin woven from palm fibers depicting a multitude of elves and animals gathered around a large, voluptuous woman. There were many fond memories about this particular gobelin. One of her suitors had gifted it her back in Everlight and later she had found out by the means of a furious Fay that this gobelin was a sacred temple decoration. The memories of the shrieking fairy ghost still made her chuckle. Her mind returned to reality when she stepped aside to continue along the hallway and her foot landed in something cold and nasty. Looking down, she saw a puddle of a glowing, blueish substance with a consistence between water and mist.  
Further ahead, there were more of such puddles. Not a single Minion was to be seen around, despite them usually running around day and night. There were only Juno and the source of the ectoplasm in this hallway.   
She might have gotten dangerous. Gnarl had mentioned how she hadn't been seen for years and who knew how Jorit's death was affecting her substance now. Juno knew that the only way out of the hallway was past  _ her _ , regardless which way she took. Clenching her jaws briefly, she walked onward with all dignity she could muster, generously avoiding the steaming puddles on the carpet.  
_ The cleaners are going to complain the next morning. _   
The source of the ectoplasm was floating in mid-air around the next turn, her clothes blowing in nonexistant wind dramatically.  
“You haven't changed a single bit, Fay.” Juno squinted against the ghost's glow.  
Fay's gaze was piercing. Despite her not being able to change, let alone age, she looked more bedraggled and vicious rather than the regal figure she once was.   
“But you did.” Her expression didn't change in the slightest when she spoke those words.  
“Come to the point, dear. You didn't return from ten years of complete absence just to make me compliments.”  
“I returned because the Netherworld has a new master. I can feel this in every vein of this place. I wanted to be forgotten, to return into the Mother Goddess' fold where I could have been granted new life, in another form. And yet, the Netherworld doesn't want me to go, every grain and crystal singing of its new lord.”  
“Don't just think you can get rid of him to have peace again.”  
Fay sighed, her face showing a trace of sadness. “Even if I wanted, I can't. But this is not the reason I am here. I know this new master is not like  _ him _ . Nobody was nor will be. But the energy streams of the planet are becoming turbulent. Something is stirring, and this something is connected to this new master of the Netherworld.”  
Juno looked at the ghost unimpressed. “Something is always stirring. From the conflicts in the Golden City to the soup in Quaver's pot, dear.”  
“This one is different. The conflicts, the politics, they have no meaning compared to this. There is an old evil resting in the place  _ he _ came from, an old evil no Overlord can compare to. Forward it before it is too late. I feel the fates of this new master of the Netherworld and the old evil already intertwining. Now it is not too late. Tell it to him.”  
Before Juno could ask what Fay was implying, the ghost shrieked and flew through the wall, leaving a large, glowing stain of ectoplasm on it.  
“Old evil?” Juno shook her head. Fay must have gotten unstable in the time she had been separated from Jorit. Maybe the ghost was dreaming of her old Overlord and interpreting too much into her own straying thoughts. The former Mistress yawned and walked further along the hallway, in direction of the part of the Private Quarters where her room was located. Having conversations with Fay always had a tiring effect on her and fifty years later, nothing had changed.  
  
Work started early, Orell didn't leave any time for breakfast; the Greens had been eating enough in the evening. While turning the giant shell over and getting it out of the flotsam pile was fairly quickly done, the vine tangles put up more resistance. Most of them were wrapped around branches and bones, some even penetrating the pieces and impossible to detach without damaging them. In the end, the whole tangle was dragged away from the cold water and spread on the shore to get the single vines free, everyone working on their own section of the tangle.   
The second challenge was connecting the vines to the protruding rocks in the river. Simply throwing them over didn't work as they soon found out; the tangle was too heavy and the Greens too bad at throwing. But Greens were good at jumping, so in the end the problem was solved by having Sinomi take one of the vines and drag it from one rock to the next. It was a good thing the vine was tied around the Green's waist, as he missed several jumps or couldn't hold himself onto the slippery, slime-covered rocks every time. At least he could use the vines he had strung up as a bridge on the way back. As Sinomi reached the shore again, soaking wet, shivering and grumbling, Orell looked at the Minion's work.   
It seemed to be solid enough.  
The remaining vines were attached to the spine and ribcage fused to the inner side of the shell, then the vines were slung over the twiner bridge and the shell was pushed into the water. Orell, the mounts and most of the Greens got into the shell, while a selection of Greens was tasked with securing the vines on the bridge. The shell with its freight inched slowly forward, with vines being thrown over the bridge, being attached and unattached again when other vines were strung up further along. It was fairly easy on the free parts, but more of a challenge whenever they had to move past one of the rocks the vine bridge was attached to. The Greens were bad throwers and Orell, frustrated over their inability of throwing the vines to the waiting Greens on the bridge, found out he wasn't much better at it, either, when he accidentally hit one of the Greens with the rock tied to the vine's tip and nearly knocked him off the vines. They passed three of such rocks, and on the way to the fourth, everything went wrong.  
It was one of the longer distance between two rocks, Orell remembered fairly well that Sinomi only managed the distance on the third jump, and then it was by taking a detour over some of the smaller rocks. The waterway was free, the vine bridge was strong and well-tied on both sides and the shell was moving along at a reasonable speed. Four Greens were throwing the vines from the shell, two were slinging them over the bridge and throwing the ends back.   
Gnarl was enthusiastically shouting commands.  
“Put some brawns in, you pantpickles! Fade, don't aim like a drunk grandmother! Neil, you idiot! Throw the vine  _ over _ the bridge, not below it! You lot wouldn't win a cowpat if this was one of Spree's market fair contests! Slug, get that  _ in the name of the Mother Goddess' nipples _ !”  
Neither Orell nor the Greens were paying attention to Gnarl at the moment, his sudden cursing and the trace of panic in his voice went unacknowledged.  
“Sire,  _ wake up and look at that skull _ !”  
The sudden shrieking tone of the advisor caught everyone's attention.  
The thickest vine was unseparably fused with a skull which bore a crest and several pairs of eye sockets. Said skull was cracked and revealed the frayed fibers within, a few remaining bone bridges keeping it together. One of the bone bridges broke with a snap that was audible over the rushing of the river below. The Greens tensed up, started to wail and increased their efforts to move the shell. Unfortunately, they were indecisive about whether they should continue ahead or get back to the last rock they had passed. The result was a chaos that made the shell go in neither direction.   
Orell himself wasn't sure what to do and the panicking Minions didn't help him concentrate, either. With a mental command, he ordered them to stop and everyone froze.  
The skull snapped in two and a jerk went through the shell,when the main vine snapped and the other, thinner vines had to bear its load.  
“Master, get those stinking scatscratchers to move the shell! The remaining vines will not hold forever!”   
“You heard what Gnarl said, get the shell forwards, to the rocks ahead,” Orell shouted at the Minions, looking at the attachments of the vines to the rock with worry. The rocking shell was making them scrape against the rock, slowly but surely they would be too weak to hold their weight. Some of the spiders decided to abandon the ship and ran over the vines to the shore, where they vanished from sight in branching tunnels.  
The Greens throwing the vines and those on the breaking bridge were doing their best in moving the shell forwards.  
The second vine snapped.  
The Minions working on the bridge tried to increase the speed by dragging the tethering vines along the bridging vines without throwing them back to the shell.  
The third vine snapped.  
Orell had trouble to prevent the Greens from panicking again. Those tasked with throwing were trying to reach some of the smaller rocks close by rather than aiming at the failing bridge. He could see their work was in vain, there was no way they could reach the rock before the vines gave out completely, controlling the panic was the only thing left to do now.   
The fourth vine snapped and the jolt from the shell ripped the remaining two vines in half.   
Control over the shell was lost immediately when the ferocious stream dragged it away. It was spinning, bumping against obstacles and rocking wildly, making everyone fall over each other into a screaming, flailing pile.  
The two Minions standing on the vine bridge were quick-witted enough to grab one tethering vine each before the shell got free and was at the mercy of the underground river. One of them dragged himself into the shell quickly, his claws cramping around the vine section inside.  
The other Green was less lucky. He had been yanked forward, against one of the sharp rocks protruding from the river. All that was seen from him again was a streak of red colouring the foaming waters.   
Orell had lost any semblance of orientation almost immediately, all he noticed was that they left the cavern quickly and vanished inside the dark tunnel the stream led into. Despite his best efforts, the Greens were in a panic, some holding for dear life on to the shell's ribs, others flailing wildly to get out of the tangles of limbs they had fallen into. Orell himself was in the middle of the tangle, one screaming Minion under his back, one angry spider on his leg, the tentacles of Sap's mount in his helmet and Gnarl's voice in his ears.  
“-getting this thing under control! Get this pile of headless chickens to work and have them catch a rock or solid branch before it's too late!”  
Orell pushed some Minions off his chest and tried to right himself. “First I have to- drat!”   
The shell bumped against a rock, making Orell fall back into the tangle again. At least the jammed Green had gotten free and stopped screaming.  
In between the spinning, rocking and collisions with protruding rocks and the cave's walls, they somehow managed to bring order into the chaos. The spiders and most of the Greens as well were clinging to the shell's inner structures, Sap's creature used its head tentacles to hold onto the shell and its current inhabitants alike and Orell was at the shell's border, holding one of the tethering vines and trying to make out a place where he could throw it at to end the uncontrolled ride.  
It was clear to him that such an opportunity wouldn't offer itself. The rocks the shell spun past were all small and smooth from the years of the stream gnawing on them and even if he would manage to capture any of them, they would be trapped in a tunnel with nothing but the stream inside.  
All he was left to do was to wait and hope the current would carry the shell to more promising parts of the tunnel.  
He didn't know how long they were floating through the caves, away from the tunnels Wellsy wanted to lead them through and further into the unknown. Several Greens got seasick and Orell felt nausea as well, less from the shell's rocking and more from the terrible stench the Minions threw up. At least the river started to flow calmer after a while, which put an end to the sickness of the Greens. But the tunnel's walls still remained smooth with no way to leave the stream.  
“You know, Sire, this reminds me of that one time where an Overlord was swallowed by a Leviathan, together with his ship. That was quite a ride through its digestive tract, hmm, even the smell kind of matches up.”  
“Gnarl, please stop.”   
“But I didn't tell you about what happened in the duodenum, that part-”  
“Gnarl! No tales about digestive tracts, their contents in this shell are harrowing enough already.”  
“The story about how an Overlord had to clean a forest troll's teeth in exchange for a key, then, no? Or what about the story where the Minions had to drink empty a sea of beer in the Golden Mountains?”  
“Would it bother you to look for a way out of this tunnel instead? It's pretty dark.”  
“Alright, Master.”  
At least Gnarl was silent then. But neither he nor Orell were able to spot any faster way out aside from letting the shell float further down the underground river. The Minions, which were mostly quiet, with only a few of them whimpering in panic, began to grow annoyed and started grumbling. Most of them tried to avoid the shell's bottom, where a pool of water mixed with vomit was sloshing around. Sap's mount was contently sitting in the middle of it.  
A strange howl startled everyone. It was the same howl Orell had heard yesterday, only that it wasn't as distant any more. Whatever was the cause, it lived close to the underground river, if not in the river itself. The Greens were tense, their ears perked up into the direction the stream was flowing. The howl was heard again, closer this time.  
To add insult to injury, the river began picking up speed again. At least, there were only few rocks protruding and the shell missed most of them, but the rocking and the spinning was enough for everyone to hold onto the ribs, vines and the border of their makeshift boat for dear life, while looking out for the source of the howling. Orell didn't anticipate the meeting with the creature in this situation, since everyone already had to fight with the currents. The volume and depth of the howls seemed to indicate a fairly large beast. He gripped the tooth sword's hilt he had taken from one of the Sarul-Ras in anticipation of the inevitable and hoped the creature wouldn't be interested in him, the Minions or the shell.  
The shell was all but flying over the churning currents when they heard the howl close by again, so loud it was almost deafening. Everyone's eyes shot up to its source, but weapons were lowered immediately when they finally saw the creature they had only heard so far and one of the Greens broke out in hysterical laughter. The howler was six-legged and clung with large, frog-like pads on the tip of its toes to the tunnel's ceiling. Two bright, blue stripes ran along its back and illuminated the large throat pouch that already inflated for the next howl.  
The creature was barely bigger than a chicken.  
“Well, that was overcompensation,” Gnarl's voice sounded through the Shroud.  
The elation of the howling creature turning out to be something harmless didn't last long. The river was still picking up speed. Gnarl was trying to say something over the sound of the rushing, but the walls of the cave had become more porous and the eddies around them filled the caves with a sucking and gurgling sound that made it hard to follow his words. But whatever Gnarl had to say about this section of the cave, Orell could see himself that the holes in the walls were too small to fit through and nearly all of them were at waterline; if there was a tunnel big enough for any of them to fit through, they would have to dive.   
Additionally to the increasing speed of the flowing waters the river became more rocky again, much to the dismay of everyone inside the shell. Orell heard one of the Greens getting sick again and Gnarl was still shouting, but he had eyes only for one thing. Ahead in the tunnel, the walls vanished and the familiar sight of deformed, moss-covered trees illuminated by spots of green and blue light spread behind.  
"We're outside soon!" he shouted back at the terrified Minions, grinning underneath his helmet.  
One moment where the gurgling and rushing of the stream was quiet enough for him to hear what Gnarl was shouting wiped the grin off his face immediately.  
"Stop the shell! Stop the shell immediately if you don't want to fall to your death!"  
Of course there was a reason for the rushing sound to continuously grow louder. Of course there was a reason for the waters to flow faster. Caught up in his search for a way out of the tunnel, Orell didn't even consider a waterfall being a part of the stream, and now he was rushing towards it, as if he was a character from a clichéd, badly-written novel. Likely, even the Minions had been aware of the waterfall ahead before he was, judging by their horrified expressions and the way they dug their claws into the shell's ribs.   
"Grab the vines and try to catch a rock!" Orell reached for the nearest vine himself. Several Greens sprung from their positions and followed suit.  
The end of the tunnel came closer and now it was visible that the stream didn't continue beyond, breaking away into a wall of mist instead.  
The Greens started to grow loud from panic again, but Orell didn't pay them any heed as he tried to catch a rock with his vine. He remained unsuccessful, since the rocks here were small and slippery. Dropping the vine into the water and hoping the stone tied to its end would catch onto the ground and anchor the shell wasn't successful, either. Throwing the vine against the porous, rough walls of the tunnel when the shell floated past them close enough only resulted in some pieces of the wall becoming loose and falling into the churning stream.   
There was no way they could stop the shell from falling.  
"Down!" The spoken command was accompanied by a mental command to make sure it was heard above the stream's rushing.  
The ceiling of the walls flew past them and they were in the open of the Infected Forest again. Orell ducked down into the shell, holding onto the vine he had used to try to catch onto a rock. Most likely, it was over. There was sti l l the small chance that they would survive the fall, that the shell wouldn't capsize when he and the Minions stayed as close to the shell's bottom as possible, that the impact on the waterfall's bottom wouldn't break all their bones. But most likely, it was over.  
' _ What a lovely way to end my plans _ ' were Orell's last thoughts before he felt the shell tipping and going over the waterfall.  
  
He didn't remember what happened afterwards. There was falling and there was screaming, both from the Minions in the shell and from Gnarl over the Shroud. Then there was nothing.   
But then, there was frantic laughter.  
Why was there laughter? Was this how death felt, was this already the afterlife?  
Orell opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a madly grinning Green. Probably not the afterlife, after all. Raising his head and looking around he saw more of the same, grinning, laughing and jumping Greens. The loudest laughter came from his own helmet, transmitted directly from the Netherworld.  
"Oh, blessed be those twisted trees! I would have never guessed an Overlord would owe his life to deformed shrubbery, ha ha!" Then, there was coughing and Gnarl was serious again.  
Orell rose from his crouching position, noting with disgust that he had knelt in the vomit pool at the bottom of the shell, and looked around. The edge of the waterfall was only a few metres above, the fallen shell was wedged in between several trunks of snaking trees growing close to the drop. A look over the shell's edge showed that the bottom of the waterfall was about thirty metres below. It was not a clean drop, the water rushed over protruding rocks and split up into many small streams that fed a wide swampy area with water. The drop would have been deadly, weren't it for the trees. Orell couldn't help but laugh himself, along with the Minions.  
Saved by the twisted trees, indeed.  
Leaving the shell and getting back onto solid ground again was less of a challenge than Orell had initially thought. He already had some practice climbing the snaking trees from his trip to the Greens and his lingering fears that the shell would become loose were unfounded; it remained solidly lodged between the tree trunks.  
The Greens were overjoyed that their involuntary boat trip was over, only one of them stood out with his drooping ears and sad expression. Judging by the necklace made of shiny pieces of exoskeletons, he might be one of the two Greens that were working on the vine bridge that failed, the only of the two that survived. In his short time of leading them Orell had seen a lot of Minions die, but he didn't recall any of the remaining ones to show any significant reactions to this. Maybe this was another effect of Minions not being hiveborns. Or maybe he simply didn't observe them closely enough.  
"Gnarl, is this a good place to send a Gate to, or is there still too much mandelite?"  
"Hm, the mandelite is definitely present in the direction you came from, but already weak. While Grubby could send a Gate, I would prefer not risking it and go a bit away from the formation.”  
Orell sighed, but he did as told. If there was one thing he didn't need, it was having the Gates being damaged anew because he couldn't wait to go back to the Netherworld. As usual, he let Wellsy lead the way, while the rest of the Greens looked out for creatures on the sides and back. And still, the few hundreds of metres they needed to get away from the mandelite's sphere of influence turned out to be more adventurous than he had thought.  
There was the usual chaotic tangle of snaking trees in front of them, which didn't allow seeing further than a few metres ahead most of the time, in the next moment the wall of green and other colours parted to reveal the sight of something truly unexpected - a road of cobblestone.   
Orell's brows furrowed at the sight when he recognized its Aurenthurian fashion, which even the thick cushions of moss that tried to reclaim the spaces between the cobblestones couldn't hide.  
Even this strange and dangerous forest couldn't prevent the onmarch of the empire.  
"Look what we have here," Gnarl commented the sight, "seems like this is the road to your next conquest.”  
"I would rather want a Gate than conquest right now, Gnarl."  
"Don't worry, Sire, I have Grubby already out for-" the advisor was interrupted by the familiar and missed sound of Gates drilling from the ground on the other side of the road, just out of sight.  
"...I hate it when he does that," Gnarl finished his sentence.  
Orell and the Minions crossed the road, ducked under a few snaking tree trunks and were rewarded by the sight of four opened crowns of Netherworld rock, with the most inviting of all lights in the entire Infected Forest shining in between their spires.   
"Do not hesitate, Sire, we do not want to repeat what happened the last time."  
While it was unlikely the Sarul-Ras would be waiting for him here as well, Orell didn't want to hesitate, indeed. He couldn't wait to get out of his armour and into a bathtub, to not spend a night in a hollowed-out tree or on wet, slimy rock again. He dismissed the Greens and went up the stairs of the main Gate himself. A last glance to Minion and mount streaming into the green-glowing mist of their Minion Gate, Orell stepped into the pillar of blue light in front of him. The pillar flashed brighter and the small, artificially-created clearing was empty again. Shortly after, the Gates folded up and spun down into the soil, leaving a place of limited destruction in the vast space of the Infected Forest.  
  
What had been a line of darkness they could occasionally spot in the direction they were riding to was beginning to differentiate its shape today, unfolding itself in the light of the setting sun. Bel could make out altitudes and depressions, but he could see the inherent wrongness of the shapes even from this distance. He would have loved to take one last rest in a proper tavern before getting any closer to this feared place, to have Punarim's guiding light over his shoulder rather than vanishing behind the distant mountain ranges, but their commander wanted to reach the Infected Forest as soon as possible.  
Usually, the ride to the northern border of the Infected Forest from Aurenthuria took about two weeks, but they had been exceptionally lucky. The weather had been playing along, the people from the villages they had passed through didn't ask for any help and the horses, an elegant white breed but still strong enough to carry a paladin in full armour effortlessly, had given their best to cover as much ground as possible every day. Bel was sad they would have to leave them behind at the outpost.  
"Come, my men, a little bit faster!" The commander turned around in his saddle.  
Paladin commander Daren Val a er was an unusual man. The son of a merchant and an accountant, grown up in the richest district the Golden City itself had to offer and never touched by hardships. Few in the order would have thought he would have been accepted, let alone make it so far up the ranks. He had a sickness of the lungs that made his breathing wheezy when he exerted himself and he refused to wear the gold-embroidered sun-durium armour the paladin commanders wore, donning a black-enamelled family heirloom instead. There were rumours that his father had paid him into this position, but anyone working with him could quickly tell that it wasn't money, but Daren's iron discipline and fervour that had made him rise to a paladin commander. While the weather, the villagers and the horses had surely played a role, it was that discipline and fervour that had brought him and his stars of paladins to their goal so quickly.   
Bel's horse was snorting and breathing heavily as they crested the gentle hill that was between them and the outpost. He would have never ridden at this speed for such a distance, but he was not the one in command and Daren always demanded everything from those he led, both man and horse. The current speed they were riding at was fast, but not too exhausting; Daren might be demanding, but he was always fair. These combinations of traits were likely the reason why he was so popular that the clergy did give him a place among the paladins despite of his sickness and allowed him to wear his black heirloom armour; his personality was the spitting image of Punarim himself. He was an inspiring leader who did his tasks excellently and in shorter times than expected, which made up for his flaws.  
Daren allowed only a short rest at the outpost; just enough for everyone packing their belongings from the saddlebags and using the privies, as he wanted to reach the elven village Geleyha before nightfall. With his supplies packed and in no need to use the outhouse, Bel allowed himself a short rest, where he sat on a deformed root growing from the ground and looked at the forest ahead. Even from here, from the safe distance at the outpost, it looked, sounded and smelled wrong. It was a frightening, hostile place, a place neither Punarim nor his Mother Goddess had intended to exist. This was Bel's first mission outside of the Golden City he had enrolled to, only because Daren Val a er was leading it. Under other circumstances, he would have felt fear at the sight of this forest, as he had heard the stories about it like most paladins did. But with Daren Val a er spearheading the mission, Bel could only feel the anticipation in seeing this place burn. 


	14. Finding the unsought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much action is happening here, it is mostly about the many ways of how to make Orell feel uncomfortable. Or alternatively, call it character development.  
> In this part, Orell finally gets back to the Netherworld, does an uncomfortable striptease, gets sword #3, sees how Minions are recycled, has his first audience, meets a killer lawn ornament, gets confused with a paladin again, deals with greedy harpies that want to undress him and picks up a bus of marauders. Also, we see where Haeren Bloodsheep had vanished, Quaver sings horrid songs in his master's vicinity, and just what did Scruffy put into those eggs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, critique is appreciated, it's the best way to improve one's writing.

The paddle went into the waves and emerged a good deal further along the boat, dripping with sea water, only to be pushed into the waves again.  _ Plunk _ , pulling his arms and body back, lowering them to lift the paddles, bend forwards,  _ plunk _ . Haeren Bloodsheep didn't know how often he had done this today, how often he had done this the last couple of days.  
This blasted Demon Lord...  
He had only stopped rowing when storms came up, where he had to pull the boat onto the always close-by beach, when he had to sleep or when he threw out and drew in the fishing line. He was so sick of fish and would kill for a good piece of mutton. Luckily, there were occasional villages along the coastline, where he could restock on water, eat something that wasn't fish or sleep on the comfort of a mouldy straw mattress. The people there were oblivious to what happened at Nordberg and in his ragged and filthy state they didn't recognize him.  
Haeren missed his old life. He had been so sure Kael would end that Demon Lord's life right where he had shown up. But Kael was dead and Haeren only alive because he was prepared. It was no mystery to him the populace of Nordberg didn't like him. Early during his reign, he had commissioned an escape tunnel leading underneath Nordberg and well out of the city's confines. It ended close to a cave at the coast, where his boat had been hidden. The hiding place was at the south of Nordberg, further away from Nordhaven and its ships, where searching Nordbergians were less likely to find him. And now he was on the fastest way to Aurenthuria, to report what had happened.  
The Demon Lord, may the Abyss Serpent gnaw on his bones, had returned.  
At least, he didn't have to row all the way to the Golden City; at the north coast of the Grim Wastelands, nearly at the border to Nordberg, was Troll's Maw, one of the Aurenthurian outposts from where the cleansing of the poisoned areas took place. They would have larger and faster ships there and as a famous hero and ex-governor he could have a comfortable cabin with a proper bed and proper food there. Haeren had given up menial labour when he became a hero and the sudden exertions were taking their toll. Everything was aching in him and his arms were numb, and only pure stubbornness and the dreams of getting a reward for his report kept him going.   
Rewards were not the only thing he was dreaming about. Every night since the last five days, there was this reoccurring dream that scared him to the bone and every time it got clearer. A maelstrom of mist and darkness with an infernal wailing coming from it first, but the mist started to reveal scenes and the wailing started to become discernible words. He had seen deformed, desolate landscapes with skies of unnatural colours, the glyph-covered ruins of temples that were not built by human or elven hand, too big, too grotesque, too repulsive. He had seen tentacles slithering over the landscape, leathery wings blot out the unnatural skies and blazing eyes open in the rock of the temple, doors to reveal a whirling void but something being behind it. Among all this were small insignificant figures grovelling, appearing like monstrous people covered in greasy wool and wearing the horns of a ram. Above all this was the sound of multiple voices screaming, howling and wailing, but one voice stood out in particular, since it spoke, louder and clearer every time, having become discernible last night.  
“Come to me.”  
Haeren woke up screaming and bathed in sweat that night and still shuddered at the thought. All that rowing and the fish must have done that to him. Luckily, it wasn't very far to Troll's Maw, where he was sure both the rowing and the strange dreams would end.   
  
Despite it having been only ten days spent in the Infected Forest, it had felt like months. And when the blue light faded, the floor underneath the portal closed and the ringing in his ears from the zap of the teleportation ceased, the appearance of the Netherworld seemed to reflect Orell's sentiments.  
A lot had changed. When he left for the Greens, the repairs on the throne room were advancing, but nowhere near finished; now the pillars were all repaired, the broken tiles replaced and the cracks mended, giving a vague image of the room's original splendour. The amount of Minions filling the throne room only added to the effect.  
It seemed like the entire barracks had come over into the throne room to greet their master. Orell made out Minions of all three colours, both the well-armed veterans that lived during the reign of his predecessor and those spawned recently, the regular fighters and the Tower's staff. Among the faces, he could make out several individuals he was already familiar with. There were several Browns wearing pieces of plants and animals from the Infected Forest present and he could make out Rust among the Reds. Scruffy was at the front and looked like the happiest Minion of them all. In the background, barely audible over the cheering, he could hear the sound of a lute and a drum playing.  
“Welcome home, Master, it's nice to see you in person again.” Gnarl pushed himself through the masses of cheering Minions, an annoyed-looking Grime in tow. Orell didn't look down to meet his advisor.  
“It's nice to see this place in person again.”  
“Of course, Sire.” Gnarl harrumphed. “Just like the Minions, the Netherworld had been longing for your presence. I'm sure you did long for its presence, too. Make place for your Master, you useless snot stains!”  
Still elated, the Minion mass parted, forming a path straight to the throne. While the imposing seat did look quite inviting, considering the stone surface was covered by moth-eaten but still opulent cushions, Orell had completely different things in mind right now.  
“Are there any urgent things I need to take care of? Anything happening in Nordberg, the surrounding villages, the Netherworld itself?” It was unlikely something new to him had happened in the time since his last request of an update on the current situations. Gnarl only verified his assumptions.  
“Well, there are Greens present now, maybe you send some of them to Nordberg to strengthen the guards or to look out for interesting information talked about behind your other Minions' backs, Giblet is longing to hand over his newly-forged sword to you and maybe you should tell Quaver to get his band and his rehearsals out of my earshot... oh, and one of the peasants from Nordberg Town wishes for an audience.”  
“Is the audience urgent?”  
“Not that I know of, Sire. It seemed to be a rather trivial matter.”  
“Then schedule it for tomorrow.”  
As Orell had passed through the path formed in the assembled Minion group, he swerved left, away from the waiting throne and towards the platform where the floating boulders were docked. The throne could wait a little longer.  
  
With all the time spent in the forest, Orell had nearly forgotten how it felt to ride the Netherworld's most notable form of transportation. When he had the solid ground of the Minion Barracks under his feet again, he still couldn't decide whether the break-neck flights over the abyss were worse than climbing the moving and bucking trees of the Infected Forest or not. He immediately called a Brown to his side to lead him to Mortis. Before Orell went to get lost in the comfort of his Private Quarters for the rest of the day, he wanted the many itching bites and smaller wounds being taken care of.  
The Brown led eagerly on, through the convoluted caves of the Barracks where Orell still wouldn't be able to find the right way without a guide. Despite the amount of Minions still left in the throne room, the barracks were bustling with activity. Many of the Browns' shacks were finished and more were being constructed. Orell was sure it didn't look much different in the Reds' fiery part of the barracks and in the Greens' section which he hadn't entered yet, accidentally or otherwise. A few of those Reds and Greens were among the Browns dominating this part of the caverns and occasionally he did see the wolves of the Browns among the Minions. They did manage to bring their mounts into the Barracks in the end.   
One of those wolves did stick out, though. Bigger than any of the other wolves, this one was not accompanied by a Brown and looked rather lost. Orell remembered who this wolf was and to whom it belonged to. He also remembered Gnarl saying that Mortis was able to revive the fallen. While he was here, he should ask the Blue about this. Canis and his wolf were irreplaceable allies during their travels through the Infected Forest and with the Aurenthurian business ahead they would be only more important.  
The actual visit at Mortis' place close to the underground river made him forget his inquiry.  
“We here!” the Brown lead called out, then stepped aside with a grin, giving an unobstructed view on the dreary-looking, robed Blue standing next to the well.   
“You do not need to explain why you are here. Take your armour off, Master.”   
A few minutes later, Orell was standing in front of Mortis only in his underclothes, the armour, which he took off with the help of the Brown, lying in a messy pile next to him.  
“ The undershirt, too.”  
Said piece of cloth went onto the armour pile and Orell crouched down. But rather than placing his hand onto his bared skin and let the healing magic travel over his body, Mortis was just looking closely while slowly circling him.  
“Is something not right?”  
“Such a forest brings more than just bites and scratches, Master. The Minions that returned a few days ago all needed treatment. Flaky and Plunk had worms in their intestines, Weedle had eggs laid under her skin. And the creatures of the forest didn't stop at you, either,” the healer said when he reached Orell's back.  
Worry snuck into Orell's mind. He was sure the worms and eggs were not the only or the worst things Mortis had encountered and the thought of slowly being eaten alive from the inside out was distressing him. “What is it?”  
Mortis didn't reply immediately. He prodded Orell's back with a clawless finger, which he barely registered. “Parasitic maggots. I have to remove them before I can heal the cavities they are sitting in. There are many of them.”  
Orell couldn't help but inhale sharply in shock. He had hoped it would be something along the line of ticks or lice, but having something actually burrowing into his skin... Still, it surprised him he hadn't felt anything of this. All he had noticed was the undershirt constantly sticking to his back, but he assumed this was because of the mixture of sweat and the forest's moisture soaking the cloth.  
"Grit your teeth, Master. This will hurt.”  
Mortis didn't lie. It was still not even close to the very first visit at the healer, but the quantity made up for the quality. The outer layers of his skin might have been numbed by the parasites, but the deeper layers which Mortis was cutting open with a small knife to pull the maggots out seemed to be all the more sensitive. Luckily the pain was only short and ended abruptly when the Blue's healing magic pushed it away and replaced it with a pleasantly cool feeling.  
The fact he heard Mortis chewing every time one of the maggots were removed didn't help. Nor did the Brown whining to get a maggot for himself.  
“Master, you appear distraught. Do you wish to see one of the creatures that had been vexing you?”  
“No thanks,” Orell pressed out. “Just be done with it quickly.”  
Eventually, the torture ended and Orell got up to get the blood in his legs flowing again. While his back might have been freed from the parasitic maggots, the scratches and stings on his arms remained and Mortis didn't even look like he was about to heal them.  
“Take your pants off, Master.”  
“ _ What _ ?”  
The face expression of Mortis didn't change. “I have to be sure there are no parasites left before I finish healing you, lest you want them to die and rot inside your skin.”  
Orell wasn't sure what was unsettling him more; the prospect of having dead and decaying parasites or the prospect of undressing in front of Minions.   
“No need to hesitate. I have seen it all before.”  
Biting back his embarrasment, Orell did as said and undressed fully. The Brown giggled at the sight but a stern look from both Orell and Mortis shut him up. As before, the Blue slowly walked around Orell. Thankfully, Mortis' focus was mostly on the shins and feet, where most of the bites were. It still didn't stop him from examining Orell thoroughly.  
“There is nothing to be ashamed about, Master,” Mortis said, noticing Orell's catalepsy. “The time in the forest has done you good, you are recovering from the time in the dungeons. You are growing into the role of an Overlord, physically and mentally.”  
“Just be done with it, please.” Mortis not just looking all over him, but also commenting on what he saw made Orell feel only more awkward. Luckily, it didn't take much longer; Mortis only removed a worm underneath the skin from the lower back, then healed the remaining cuts, bites and stings in one go. Immediately after the healing was done, Orell put his underclothes on, scratched up the few shreds of dignity left, briefly thanked Mortis and quickly left his place at the underground river, leaving the pile of armour behind. He would order the Minions to bring it to the private quarters later. A different Brown served as the guide to the barracks' ledge. Orell wanted to get as quickly as possible to the private quarters and there into the bathtub, to wash both the physical and the mental filth off.  
  
The hot water worked wonders, indeed. As soon as Orell was engulfed by it, he forgot the stresses and strains of the previous days, the injuries sustained and the awkwardness of their healing. He didn't realize how much he had missed this. This time it was in a proper bathtub rather than the wooden trough that had been standing in the middle of the bathroom previously. Orell did notice that the bathtub was not the only thing different in the private quarters than when he was was here last time.   
Juno, Scruffy and the rest tasked with decorating the private quarters had outdone themselves. Everything was tidy and haimish, the cracks in the rock were mended, the rubble removed and the broken furniture replaced. The bathroom's basin had been repaired, but it lacked the statues and currently contained a luxurious emailled tub, which Orell remembered seeing in Nordberg's town hall where Haeren Bloodsheep had been living. In fact, a lot of the furniture seemed to either come from the town hall the Minions likely had plundered during Orell's absence or were coming from Nordberg's residents. Everything bore the simple wooden style with braided carvings the Nordbergians preferred, from the clothing rack where his red robe hung, over the small locker where the soap, sponges and other utensils were stored to the table next to the bathtub to place the currently used utensils onto. The only thing standing out were the gilded chandeliers that depicted nude maidens. He assumed those were of the style of the Vainglorious Empire and likely survivors of the Tower's sacking, as these things would fetch a good market price among collectors nowadays.  
Taking his mind off the chandeliers, he picked the bronze mirror off the table to have a look at his face. It did look better than the emaciated, hairy mess he had seen since the last bath. His beard had regrown during the ten days he was stranded in the Infected Forest. Orell thought about shaving it into shape rather than removing it completely; before he got thrown into the dungeons and the tangled jungle on his face had to get off along with the lice in it, he preferred to have a trimmed and styled beard rather than a completely blank face. Usually, he had barbers to do this, but he didn't trust Minions with sharp weapons too close to his throat. He could at least give it a try; if he messed it up, he could shave it completely off and wait for the next time.   
Putting the mirror back on the table and taking the sponge and soap instead, Orell focussed onto more important matters. He thought about getting to the forge today. A new sword was waiting for him there and he would prefer to try the weapon out before he would use it against any dangerous foes.The audience with the Nordbergian was left to the following day, as was the revival of Canis.   
When all of this was dealt with, he would have to go back to the Infected Forest. But at least this time he would have working Gates and he would be careful where to use them. At last, the time of aimless wandering was over. He didn't know where the discovered road would lead him, the only way to find out was to walk it.  
  
  
Orell let his hair dry in the hot air currents flowing through the forge where he was looking for Giblet, but he found Ingrid working at the main anvil instead. It was strange, as the sword was finished and he didn't commission anything after. Curiously, he walked over to the anvil and took a look at what was being created on it.  
To his surprise, the white-hot piece of metal had the distinct shape of a shovel.  
“Who commissioned this?” he shouted over the sounds of the hammer blows. He had to repeat the question, since Ingrid didn't catch his words the first time. She answered when the shovel was put into the hearth to be heated up again.  
“Erik did. His old one broke.” Ingrid caught Orell's confused look. “From Faairdal. What, you thought I would just sit around here and wait until something breaks, gets lost or you wish for a fancier armour? There is no point in doing nothing and the people of Faairdal don't have a blacksmith.”  
“I still find it strange you are forging it right here. I could arrange new forging equipment from Nordberg and have your workshop in Faairdal reinstated, if you wish so. I owe you that.”  
“I would wish for no other forge.” The welding mask hid her features, but Orell could hear out the grin from her voice. “This is the best place I could create metalwork at. The fuel is better than any coal, it has tools I could only dream of in my old forge and those little helpers come in handy, too.”  
“Speaking of helpers, do you know where Giblet went?”  
“At the armour stack. Someone brought several sacks of some metalwork some time ago and he had vanished there ever since.”  
Orell thanked the blacksmith and moved into the direction of the part of the forge where the remains of the former Overlord's equipment were stored. He could hear Giblet long before he saw him. The Minion seemed to be agitated.  
When he finally arrived, he saw what was angering him so much. Either one of the Browns in the barracks didn't understand him right or they thought it was better to bring it here first before moving it into the private quarters, but his armour had somehow washed up here.  
“Bad. Bad. Very bad. Terrible”, the Forge Master sputtered while he examined the armour pieces.  
“What is bad?” Orell asked.  
Giblet jolted up with a yelp, hectically looked around as if searching for an escape route and winced at the end. “M-Mastah! Giblet not expected visit.” He continued after he had halfways collected himself. “Me got armour brought, but lots of scratches and bent plates. Need to repair and polish.”  
Orell raised an eyebrow. It appeared like whoever had transported the armour had decided that repairing it would be better than just bringing it to the private quarters.  
“Have it in the private quarters at morning, then. If you can't finish until then, just fix the worst damages. Also, I would like to see the new sword you have made.”  
Giblet's face lit up. “Yes, Mastah! Giblet has put it into weapon display at the front, so everyone can see!” He ran over to one of the turnable weapon racks, stretched both arms into its directions and shouted “Tadaah!”.  
Orell examined the displayed weapon. It was just like he wanted it, of medium length and with a wide crossguard. Compared to the two swords from the corpse pit he went through, it was a masterpiece. The leather-wrapped handle was kept simple, yet elegant and clearly bore Ingrid's Nordbergian mark in its design, having the same braided patterns on the crossguard as the new furniture had. The blade was slender and tapered, a perfect weapon to find the weak spots in plate armour. He saw it was light and perfectly balanced when he picked it up and on closer examination it was visible that the leather was covered in fine scales and the polished cutting edges bore the fine, wavy marks of folded steel.  
This weapon wouldn't snap in half if a paladin stepped on it.  
Orell gave the sword a few test swings and looked around if he could find a training pole to test the weapon on, but he saw none. He was eager to train a bit with Chasm before he would go out into actual combat, but the embarassment from the latest visit of the barracks was too fresh. Maybe he could send a Minion to get the scarred marauder to his private quarters. He wouldn't have to worry about the more limited space and the uneven ground of the Barracks there, too. It was good he had refused to throw away the old armour from the corpse pit, since he wanted to put it into good use now.  
  
The rest of the day was spent with training with Chasm. The Minion was sour at the first minutes, either because Canis was dead or because he had to stay in the barracks during the search for the Green Minions, but he warmed up quickly. He had missed combat practice as much as Orell had.  
The sword fared as well in combat as it looked. It was fast, precise and less tiring to use than his previous weapons. It reminded him of the elegant fencing weapons that were preferred in the northern shires of Alsemark, but it was still large and robust enough to stop the heavier blades Chasm was using. It would work well against the longswords of the paladins and while he couldn't test how well the sword would fare against plate armour, he was sure he would have opportunities to test it in the near future.  
Their training continued well into the night. Orell was completely exhausted when he dropped into his bed; he barely managed to call for Scruffy to have his reeking underclothes washed before he fell asleep.   
Scruffy was also the first face he saw the next morning. Orell had barely awoken when he heard the heavy curtains being pushed aside and the clicking of claws came closer. The sounds carried an appealing scent with them. Curious to its source, he pushed himself up and saw the lead courtier grinning like an elf on midsummer, a plate with fried eggs in her hands. He took the plate gratefully, only remembering now he had forgotten to eat for dinner yesterday, and accordingly, he felt like he was starving. Scruffy didn't leave, just stared at him with an expectant grin.  
“Made them myself...  _ Master _ ,” she said upon an inquiring glance.  
The two eggs used for this dish were too large to come from a chicken and had an unusual taste. He hadn't seen any chickens around Nordberg or in the Netherworld, either; most likely, they were the eggs of ducks or maybe geese, he remembered having seen a few ducks in the river within the city's confines.  
“They are good,” Orell said. “I like them.”  
Scruffy showed the most elated face he had ever seen on a Minion, made a barely-suppressed squealing noise and ran off.  
Bewildered, Orell stared at the moving curtain for a moment, then dedicated his attention to the eggs again.  
The refurbished bedroom was were Scruffy and Juno seemed to have put most of their efforts into. The new bed was even larger than before, flanked with a Nordbergian night table at each side, the table was repositioned to allow a nice view out of the window and the stone walls were invisible underneath the many different tapestries. Their choice in tapestries was questionable, though; while most were of a simple design, showing just patterns or stylized creatures, others had, similar to the chandeliers, nude maidens depicted. One particular tapestry, hung directly over the bed, surpassed them all: it was of a dark red and showed a multitude of gold-coloured pictures of satyrs engaging in unspeakable acts with nymphs, often in positions that seemed anatomically impossible or very uncomfortable at least. He would have to talk with Juno about this; if he would ever have to invite anyone into this room, he would prefer the other person not having an impression of him that he was eager to engage in such acts himself.  
He finished the eggs, wiped the plate with a piece of bread and prepared to visit the barracks. The prospect of seeing Mortis now didn't feel as embarrassing as it would have felt yesterday.  
  
“I need you to revive Can is.”  
Orell sat on a nearby rock and watched as Mortis prepared the revival. Symbols were drawn onto the open space close to the well, some in chalk, some in blood, some in pastes and liquids the Blue took from bottles he produced from underneath his robe. The Brown that hat led Orell to the underground river returned with two additional Browns in tow, both small and seemingly never having been in battle. He thought they were going to assist Mortis in painting the sigil, but they just stood next to it, one with drooping ears, the other looking elated.  
“You are welcome to watch, Master, but whatever happens, please do not interrupt. The balance must be maintained,” Mortis said when he was done with the symbols and rose from the ground with his scythe in hand. He then continued to slowly walk around the sigil, murmuring something and strewing some kind of powder into the sigil's confines in regular intervals. He circled it once, twice, thrice, his murmuring continuously rising in volume into a clearly audible chanting Orell didn't understand. One of the Minions, the elated-looking one, stepped forwards, to the border of the sigil. Mortis stood at the other side, his eyes focussing on the centre of the sign, while he continued with the chant.   
In a sudden movement that made Orell nearly fall off the rock he was sitting on, Mortis spun around and with a flash of his scythe he beheaded the Brown. The body fell over, twitching and gushing blood into the middle of the sigil, with several lines and symbols of it starting to glow the moment the blood touched them. Orell gasped in shock at the sudden turn of events and averted his eyes out of reflex. He wished he didn't, as he saw the head rolling up to his feet instead. The eyes of the disembodied head met his and he was sure the corners of the mouth rised in a faint grin before the eyes rolled up and the lids closed.  
Frozen in his place, too shocked to do anything and all too aware any intervention would make this sacrifice in vain, he watched how the revival ritual continued. Mortis had dragged the body out of the sigil, where the other Brown was now standing in the middle of. He was clearly way less eager to die for the ritual, trembling and whimpering, but he still straightened up and raised his head until he looked up at the ceiling. His life and with it his fear ended when Mortis thrust the bloodied blade of his scythe into the other Minion's chest. The body went limp, but instead of collapsing, it rose into the air and emitted a glow as if it was burning up from the inside. Then, it fell apart into a twirling vortex of orange light, together with the head and body of the other Minion and a part of the drawn symbols. Under Mortis' continued chanting, the light agglomerated in the middle of the sigil into the shape of a floating skeleton, perpetually gaining substance. More light was pulled to the building-up shape and formed into sinews, muscles and organs. In the end, appearing like reversed burning of paper, the figure was covered with skin and the remaining wisps of light clustered around the head, limbs and back to form the armour pieces, a spear and the characteristic antlered stag's skull with the fur cape attached to it. The figure gently floated to the ground and the last remains of the orange glow faded away.  
The next moment, Canis' eyes shot open and he jumped up, looking around hectically. And for the first time, Orell heard him speaking.  
“ _ Where is Ferin _ !?” The unusually deep, rough voice echoed off the walls. He looked clearly agitated and even Mortis backed away. His anger switched to happiness when he seemed to hear something in the distance. Occasional barking and yowling came closer through the tunnels, soon accompanied by the sounds of paws on rocks. A grey scheme shot out of one of the tunnels and Canis cheerfully embraced his mount, who seemed just as happy to see his rider.  
Orell felt happy for the two, but the shock of the two others' deaths was still lingering. Two sacrifices to bring a single one back. He would have to be careful about the more essential Minions in his horde, since experiencing something like this again was something he didn't want. He let Canis and Ferin have their reunion and called a close-by Brown to lead him back. Gnarl said there was someone wanting an audience and he didn't want to let them wait.  
  
The one who wanted an audience took their time.  
After a short talk with Gnarl about the etiquette for a proper audience of an Overlord, he had donned his still partly scratched and dented armour and taken place on the throne to expect the applicant entering the  t hrone  r oom from the direction of the floating boulders, the hallway to which was flanked with Minion guards, all wearing black armour and brandishing halberds.  
But instead of having an audience, he was listening to Quaver playing on his lute and singing in a far-off corner of the room, with a cluster of other Minions listening and laughing.  
“ _ Whenever I let out a fart it makes me really happy.  
Relieves the strain, gives energy to write the poems sappy.  
A silent hoot, a mighty toot,  
melodious and so quick on foot,  
they mark the way to better days and make my life less crappy.  
Whenever Wells lets out a fart it makes him really gla-had.  
Good at home and good at fights because they smell so ba-had.  
Drives hicks from homes and poisons gnomes,  
who are then under earthy domes,  
their bodies, they now fatten worms and their friends are being sa-had _ .”  
Orell couldn't believe he was actually listening to this. While the music was something barely appropriate for a harbo u r pub, it was still better than to wait in the relative silence of the  t hrone  r oom.  
Minute passed after minute and Orell wondered if the one asking for an audience had fallen off the roof of their house or something similar. Or maybe Gnarl was greatly understating the urgency of the audience, which might have been a matter of life and death. Quaver, meanwhile, seemed to go through the entire Minion populace with his song, sparing nobody. There were verses about Grime, Giblet, Scruffy, Mortis and a lot of names he had never heard of before; one of the verses seemed to be about one of the Minions present, as the group broke out in loud laughter then it started. The best verse, however, he left for the end.  
“ _ Whenever Gnarl lets out a fart it makes him really grumpy.  
That roar that's ripping from his arse, it makes him very jumpy.  
Lack of control over the hole,  
spontaneous since age took its toll  
and reaching down into his pants he's feeling something lumpaaAH _ !”  
Quaver nearly threw his lute into the air when he saw the one he was currently singing about leave one of the alcoves and position himself next to the throne.  
“Our soddy sheepsucker was a bit indisposed, as he calls it, so I apologize for the long wait, Sire. This alone is worthy of a punishment, if you ask me.”  
The 'soddy sheepsucker' stumbled along the hallway towards the throne, looking visibly terrified. He was a red-haired, middle-aged Nordbergian with a balding head and a very impressive moustache, as if the hair on his head had decided it would be better to move to the upper lip. The two Minion escorts man oeu vred him into the pit under the teleport and left him there, where he stood looking around fearfully, not saying a word.   
“What is your concern?” Orell asked. He felt like if he didn't do it, the man would just continue standing around.  
“Eh, where should I start... um... well, the pe-people of Nordberg had been, how should I put it, talking about offerings, as a thank for being free of the sun-worshippers, and, well they had been talking and deciding, since we aren't very rich and the possessions of Bloodsheep and his paladins had been already taken, they had been deciding that instead of gold, we can pay in ore. The mountains, they have iron and copper and zinc and not too little of it. Oh, and sheep. Well, not the mountains have sheep of cou r se, the people do.”  
Orell turned to Gnarl. “What kind of metal do we need the most and do we have the means to smelt the ore?”  
“Gold would be the best of course, nothing makes a dark tower more homely than a nice big pile of gold  right next to the bed . But since the paladins seem to have eaten it all and then shat sheep on the pastures, iron will do. That way, we can put the Minions we can make from the sheeps' lifeforce into proper armour, rather  t han having them dress in rags and trash. Copper is a good magical conductor, that can be used to build new Netherworld devices. Zinc, hmm, I will have to ask Giblet if he knows what it can be used for. It's suboptimal, but it will do. In the worst case, we could sell it, but I tell you, trading economics are a level of evil even we don't want to descend into.”  
“This is acceptable,” Orell said, directed at the Nordbergian. “I want you to make a list of what kinds of ore you have to offer and how much.”  
“Okay and, eh, the second part I want to address is that, well, some of the outer villages have been some w hat, um, unwilling to accept their new lord. The fishing villages at the coast in particular, they decided they will close off their gates and become self-sufficient, if this means to keep you and your demons out. Of course, the people of Nordberg do not agree with this decision, we are trying to convince them not to do it, but so far we had no success in talking them out of that.”  
“They can talk as much as they want, only some killing, pillaging and burning will help those musselhumping mongrels getting their minds straight,” Gnarl said.  
“That would send the wrong message. We don't have any immediate need for fish and as long as they are only segregating themselves instead of taking to any offensive means, I see no need to take action.”  
“But Sire, if they do that and the others see they can get away with it, how long do you think it will take until the other villages start doing the same? Not taking any action will leave you where you had started!”  
“It doesn't mean I should exterminate them, either, because it might result in them seeing that I'm not someone they would want to be ruled by and me then having to start doing the same with the other villages until there are no villages left to rule.”  
“Master, it doesn't matter what the underlings want to be ruled by and what-”  
Whatever else Gnarl wanted to say, Orell cut him short by giving the answer to the man. “Cut off all trade with the renegade villages completely. If some of them want to accept my reign, recompense them appropriately and make sure the remaining villages know of that. If you can expend any ships from Nordhaven, make regular patrols in the villages' vicinity to show them my presence and make sure none of them gets the idea of sailing southwards and contacting an Aurenthurian harbour.”  
The man's face lit up. Gnarl grumbled something under his breath.  
“Thank you, Lord. There was one last thing I wanted to talk about, since, eh, I had to bring the news, we have this one tradition at Nordberg where an  a mbassador gets a reward for his doings, so I wanted to ask if I could borrow some of your brown demons and the wolves they are riding for a bit. I have a neighbour, Arnfinn, who is insufferable. He has pissed in my boots two days ago, and I have seen what the wolves have done to the poor sods of the surrounding villages, so I thought they could do the same to him, a bit of breeze around his buttocks would be good for him.”  
“Sire, at the right side of the throne's armrest is a movable stone plate, which operates the Pit remotely,” Gnarl muttered. “Just push it and have this fool plummet into the abyss, where he belongs for proposing such ridiculous compensations. Fifty years, and they still didn't learn anything.”  
Gnarl's suggestion was once again ignored.  
“I need them myself. You can ask one of the guards in Nordberg if they want to assist you. You are now dismissed.”  
The two Browns led him out into the hallway again. While he appeared less horrified than when he walked into the  t hrone  r oom, he still tried to keep some distance to the two Minions and their sharp weapons.  
“Shame, I would have loved to see him fly.” Gnarl watched as the visitor vanished from view completely. “Anyway, to the organisatory. Would you prefer to inspect the ore personally and have it collected in the town hall of Nordberg first, or should the citizens be told to drop it by the Gates so it can be brought to the Netherworld directly?”  
“Let Giblet and Ingrid examine the ores, I am no expert at this. And find out how much ore we are talking about, I don't want the town hall be filled up to the roof with it. Maybe store it somewhere outside, on an open place close to the Gates or an alley.”  
“Grime, write this down! And Sire, once the ore has arrived?”  
They continued to discuss the fate of the different ores, then focused on the coastal villages. Gnarl went through every scenario possible in his try to make Orell consider taking the villages by force, but Orell remained where he stood, saying he would use economic pressure for the time being and see how it turns out.  
“But what if it doesn't turn out well?”  
“Depending on what they do, either increase the pressure, smuggle in a spy to find the rebels' leaders and take them out or at worst case an attack. But that will  _ only _ happen if what they do will warrant it, since this way I will not lose too much support from the populace. And either way, I don't have the time to deal with the villages personally. I have to go back into the Infected Forest.”   
“I have noted everything,” Gnarl said with a grin. Grime gave Gnarl an obscene gesture as an answer and nearly dropped his quill in the process. “But I do wonder, why return? You have found and brought back the Green Minions, there is nothing of importance left there. Let it burn. This way, the paladins are distracted with it while you can take on the Wasteland to save any artefacts they haven't found and destroyed yet.”  
“There might be important artefacts in the forest as well, and there are elven villages that are on the verge of being destroyed.”  
“Oh, like that elven village that wanted to sacrifice you to that tree god they are worshipping?”  
“Like that elven village Yerael came from. Depending on what had been decided, they will be either all homeless or even dead if the paladins aren't intercepted.”  
“What use would these elves have? Their economy has barely anything to offer and by the looks of those elves we have met, they all appear like they would rather want to use their plant magic to grow a collective noose and hang themselves instead of producing anything useful. Or they will mutate into even more Sarul-Ras.”  
“As long as they haven't mutated, they will be useful allies. The elves of Evernight form a not insignificant part of Aurenthuria and they are one of the least happy groups about the Golden City's reign. Considering there are many holy places in the Infected Forest which are still being visited by pilgrims, the prospect of their burning along with the forest would only agitate them further. If I can gain some of their trust by fighting the paladins off, it will earn me allies within the heart of Aurenthuria fairly quickly.”  
“Ah, so instead of attacking the empire from outside, you are planning to remotely corrupt it from the inside out? Now,  _ that _ is evil, Master. Makes me almost overlook the lack of burning elf in this plan.” 

A flash of light, a lightning crack, and the suffocating stench of mold enveloped him again. The day in the brimstone-filled air of the Netherworld made him almost forget about the Infected Forest's smell. Orell stepped off the flat stairs of the Gate and focused on the Minion Gates that unfolded in his presence. This time he wouldn't take any chances. The first one to come out of the Brown Gate were Canis and Ferin, followed by two additional wolf riders. The fourth Minion was clad in simple plate armour and had a metal-rimmed shield strapped to his arm. He was the first of four shieldcarriers Orell had requested from Chasm. More Browns followed, some wearing pieces of exoskeletons and dried mushrooms, others a mixture of freshly-forged armour pieces and the old, rusty pieces from the corpse pit.  
The Reds started off with their leader Igniot in his blackened pieces of paladin armour and Rust, who mostly wore the bones and plates of the forest creatures. Among the Greens were Wellsy and his band of four, all except Sap riding a moss spider.  
Overally, twenty-six Minions. He could have summoned more and put them under the leaders' command, but he feared too many Minions would attract unwanted attention from the forest's fauna.   
With his new horde in tow, Orell stepped out of the underbrush and onto the moss-covered cobblestones of the street. There were two directions he could choose from. It didn't matter which one he picked, it would bring him either to an elven village, an Evernightian ruin or the outside of the forest, from where he could be able to pinpoint his location. He decided to take the left.  
Orell walked at the head of the group first, checking the moss cushions for impressions or crushed mushrooms that would tell of earlier travellers, then sent one spider rider each to scout the areas both in front and at the back. Walking on the road was much more comfortable than fighting oneself through the undergrowth and having to avoid the erratic trunks of the snaking trees or their hidden root coils.  
He let his mind wander. Having Canis next to his side made Orell remember the revival ritual. Two Minions died to revive a single one.  _ The balance must be maintained _ , he remembered Mortis say. To bring back life, life must be taken. He wondered what would happen if the sacrifices would have been sheep instead of Minions. It had been his first revival and it was certainly not his last, and the question if the revivals would work without paying in Minions didn't let go of him, but he was not able to find a conclusion on this matter. If only he could get the damn melody of Quaver's song out of his mind...  
Being so lost in thought, Orell noticed the trunk of a fallen tree blocking the road only when he was standing almost directly in front of it. Both its ends vanished in the thick undergrowth, with vines connecting it firmly to the ground. They would have either to generously walk around it or climb over.  
But instead, a small, squeaking figure entered the scene and took everyone's attention.  
“So, this is where Smolder had gone to. Ending like this must be worthy of some kind of reward...”  
Smolder was likely the former owner of the Red Minion's skull with the shattered left horn the gnome was wearing as an oversized hat. The rest of his armour was of a similar fashion, consisting of bones and exoskeleton plates and the little bit of skin that was not covered in brown, shaggy fur was painted in earthy colours, serving both as a camouflage pattern and as a war paint. Hands on his hips, the gnome was standing on the top of the trunk and looking down on Orell.  
With a high-pitched but firm voice, the gnome started to squeak.  
“Hm, either this 'Zinguhal the Glorious Hero' is asking you who is daring to enter his lands or he wants to invite you to a tea party on the moon.”  
“Eh, I'm just passing through,” Orell said, too bewildered to come up with anything wittier. Quieter, he asked Gnarl: “Tea party on the moon?”  
“Gnomish is a complicated language,” came the reply. “There is a lot of room for interpretation and their large noses easily distort the words. And now he says that either the camels are getting ripe tonight, or that creatures like you and the Minions are not welcome here.”  
“You could simply leave out the less likely of the interpretations, it is obvious he doesn't want to invite me for a session of camel-picking.”  
The Gnome continued squeaking and dramatically jabbed his clawed finger at Orell.  
“He wants to know where you r mother is buried so he can fornicate with her corpse.”   
“Gnarl, I said no more unlikely interpretations!”  
“But Sire, the other interpretation would be that he wants to kill you and nail your head to the wall of his burrow, which, if you ask me, is the much less likely meaning.”   
The gnome kept squeaking and gesticulating, while the Minions glared, hissed and cursed at him. Orell felt more and more annoyed by the tiny, haughty being and was about to turn away and seek a way around the fallen tree and to leave the gnome to its squeaking, but the gnome managed to anger the Minions enough to have them attack. One fireball splattered against the lying trunk, barely missing the gnome who jumped into a knothole nearby. A Brown with a short Sarul-Ras spear jumped after the gnome and stuck his head into the hole.  
A loud thunk resounded from the inside of the trunk and the Brown fell off it, suddenly lacking his head.  
“This boil-banging booger! The filthy little flea theatres have learned to use death traps! Master, crush that bastard under your boot and shove the remains up a troll's arse!”  
Orell was cursing himself. He'd had enough of decapitated Minions for today. While Gnarl was rattling off ever more colourful suggestions on what to do with the gnome, Orell could unfortunately not turn them into reality. The gnome most likely either left the trunk in another place and ran away or he was waiting with more traps inside. Either way, trying to hunt him down now was too big of a risk. Orell turned to the right side of the road and entered the forest's underbrush to give the trunk a wide berth and looked out for a moving skull in the underbrush. While a part of him hoped to never see the louse-ridden little bastard again, he wouldn't allow himself to be taken by surprise like that by the gnome again.  
  
Hours passed while Orell and the Minions kept walking on the overgrown cobblestone road to their unknown destination. The Minions were more alert than usual, since everyone was looking out for  gnomes. Their searches were unsuccessful; neither did they encounter any gnomes or anything else of interest for that matter; it seemed like the creatures of the forest avoided the road. One single exception was encountered in the shape of a pitch-black, bear-like creature that followed the road on six stilt-like legs in the other direction. Not wanting to take any chances, Orell watched the creature passing while hidden in the underbrush next to the road and resumed the travel when he was sure it was out of sight.   
It surprised him how well-maintained the road looked.  T he growing speed of the Infected Forest was legendary, he had heard many horror stories from dwarves living in the foothills of the Golden Mountains about them going to sleep with the forest's border twenty metres away and waking up with vines twining through the windows, yet the snaking trees seemed to avoid the road, arching far over their heads instead. It was well in the realm of possibility the very cobblestones of the road were enhanced to repel the mutated flora and fauna.  
The first other sign of civilisation they encountered was in the shape of an elven marker stone, carved into the elegant shape of a stylized falcon. Further along the road more of the marker stones were placed and soon Orell could see where the road had been leading to.   
The snaking trees pulled away similarly as they did in the borders of the firetree groves, forming a tall dome of free space, only with flower-bearing vines reaching down into it. Inside the dome there was an impenetrable wall of tightly interwoven trunks that bore arm-long sharp thorns. Orell couldn't see what was behind the wall save for the crowns of a few trees that were not growing in the erratic patterns the trees outside did, and the greenish-blue light illuminating their leaves. The road led directly to a magnificent portal that was closed off by two tall, carved door wings held by a stone archway.  
They had reached one of the larger of the elven settlements and their arrival didn't go unnoticed.  
A pointy-eared head peeked over the leaves and thorns of the living city wall.  
“Go away,” he shouted. “We have told you we don't want to have business with you!”  
Orell wondered for a moment. Did the elf recognize him as the Overlord like some of the older people of Nordberg had done? But the way he was talking suggested that whoever Orell was being recognized as, it had been someone met more recently than forty to fifty years ago.  
“May I know which 'business' I was supposed to have?” Orell shouted up the wall.  
“Have you still not understood? We aren't leaving! We don't care if Aurenthuria already has built villages for us in Alsemark's forests to move in already,  t his is the place of our fathers and mothers and it will stay this way!”  
A second head appeared on the wall. “You paladins can go home and take care of your own business!”  
Orell almost rolled his eyes at the two elves' words. This was the second time someone mistook him for a paladin.  
“I am not a paladin and I will not suggest anyone to move out! I wish to speak with your leader about the paladins in the forest because they are my enemies!” To emphasize his lack of connection to Aurenthuria's holy warriors, he let his Minions make themselves present by shouting and waving at the two elven guards.  
One of the two's eyes widened at the sight. He turned to his fellow and they started talking, too quiet to hear about what. As soon as their matters were settled, he turned to Orell again.   
“Do the creatures around you follow your commands? Are you their leader?”  
“I am!”  
“We will allow you to talk to Laendel under one condition. To the south of here, there is a colony of creatures like yours, which had been vexing us for years. Tame them and take them with you and we will open the gates upon your return!”  
“Where is 'south'?”  
Rather than giving a spoken answer, the elf pointed to the right, then both heads vanished behind the wall again.  
“Is it just me or is this Spree all over?” Orell heard from the Shroud. “Every time we are standing before a wall with a closed gate, it ends up with doing them a favour, unless it doesn't involve siege machinery. But at least, the favour will benefit both sides. Master, it seems like there are some marauders nearby, and a large group at that! Shame the tree lover didn't specify which tribe the Minions belong to.”   
“Does it matter that much to you? We will find out soon enough,” Orell replied.  
“Of course it matters! Especially if they have Blues among them. We still don't know where the watery wigglers have went to and their abilities to bring freshly-dead Minions back to life had been the turning point of many battles.”  
Hearing this, Orell started to share Gnarl's sentiments on the nature of the marauders.  
  
They were back in all too familiar terrain soon, since the direction the elf had pointed at didn't have any roads that made travelling easier. The three wolf riders and the spider-riding Greens were sent ahead to scour a wide path of the area. The reactions of the Minions still at Orell's side differed between tension and cheerful relaxedness, mostly depending on whether the Minions had been in the Infected Forest before or not.  
As soon as they had left the road and the elven settlement behind, the fauna of the forest was back in its full strength. The Minions that were in the forest for the first time were elated at the amount of insects to eat and Orell noted with annoyance that something was crawling up his leg. Not wanting another session of parasite removal with Mortis, he quickly tore the boot off and reached underneath his pants to pull out the crushed remains of a harmless moth. In the next moment, he heard one of the wolves bark, accompanied by the shouting of its rider.  
As soon as he had arrived at the place the sounds had came from, he could see his presence was not necessary any more; Canis was busy wiping his spear off on the moss-covered bark of a snaking tree and his wolf Ferin was holding and occasionally shaking the corpse of one of the creatures with a secondary jaw formed by its head and tail. Orell gave the Minions the mental command to stay alert if they saw more of the creatures, but it appeared like Canis taking out the decoy scared the rest of the pack away.  
The terrain began to rise and was soon so steep they had to use the vines and snaking trees as an aid to move forwards. In several parts of the ground the moss wasn't present, revealing naked rock covered in blotches of sponge-like lichen. The glowing pillbugs became secondary as the main lightsource, instead most of the illumination came from large, bell-shaped fungi that glowed brightly with an almost white light. Swarms of gnats danced around them and the fungi were covered with small lizards and spiders that tried to catch the swarming insects. Occasionally, swift-like creatures flew through the swarms and made them disperse and sometimes Orell could hear the rushing of larger wings above.  
The ascension of the sloping terrain was exhausting and Orell ordered a pause. He was having doubts about the correctness of the chosen path, but asking one of the wolf riders reassured him that his mount had picked up the smell of Minions.  
“Can you tell which Minions?”  
The Brown scratched his ears. “No. Maybe Canis can tell, but Canis no talking.”  
It seemed that the marauders would be located either on a saddle of the slope, a cave opening in its side or on the summit. None of them was an useful hint on the nature of the Minions.  
Shortly after they were on the move again, the terrain became less inclined, which made walking a lot more easy. Additionally, the snaking trees were growing less densely and allowed a better view of the surroundings. There were a lot of flowers of different size and colour blooming and attracting swarms of insects and other flying creatures. Their sweet smell permeated the air and nearly drowned out the everpresent mo u ldy smell.  
“I am surprised this part is even existing,” Gnarl commented the view. “Seems like even years of ooze couldn't rid Evernight of idyllic hideousness completely. Urgh, excuse me, the smell makes me sick.” Orell heard the sounds of footsteps rapidly decreasing in volume and wondered if he had ever seen Gnarl run as fast as the sounds suggested. His listening was interrupted by something he didn't expect to hear.  
“Who dares to enter our nesting grounds?” a melodious female voice asked.  
Orell and the Minions looked up at the source of the voice and saw that the speaker didn't suit the voice at all. Perching on a snaking tree coil over their heads there was a short, but obese woman with a long, pointed nose, elf-like ears and an updo held together by slender bones. Beneath her waistline her body was covered by brown feathers, her legs tapered into bird-like talons and instead of arms she had a pair of wings that were folded behind her back. The only thing covering her enormous breasts were smashed eggs that mysteriously didn't drip off, with the only other object that resembled clothing being an opulent necklace with all kinds of shiny objects having been tied onto, ranging from colourful pieces of exoskeleton to gold coins.  
To prevent a similar outcome like with the gnome, Orell called all Minions to his side and commanded them to stay alerted, but on their place.  
“We are just passing through.”  
“Oh, but do  _ we _ want to let you?” Like a bird, the harpy cocked her head. “I see shiny things, beautiful shiny things! My sisters will be so jealous if they see the shiny things on my nest, oh yes.”  
“I'm afraid you can't-”  
“The shiny things will be all mine!  _ Miine _ !” The harpy unfolded her wings and swooped down before she finished speaking.  
Orell tried to unsheathe his sword, but too late. The harpy was on him, clawing at his helmet and other armour pieces. The Minions shouted, but didn't dare to attack in the fear of hitting their master. Orell struck at her, but blinded by the feathers, he managed a badly-placed hit with the sword's hilt.  
Still, it was enough to get the harpy off.   
She flew in a wide circle and attacked again. Weapons and fireballs were ready and aiming at her. But just before she entered the Reds' firing range, she emitted a loud shriek that didn't sound like her honeyed voice at all. The Minions winced and clasped their hands over their ears. Orell's ears were ringing as well when the harpy homed in on him, but by ducking away he managed to escape her avaricious claws.  
“Master, the shriek might be able to disable your Minions, but her mass can be used against her,” he heard Grime say. “Do you see the low-hanging trunk to the left?”  
Orell grinned underneath his helmet as he saw that Grime was implying. He moved to the side to make the harpy adjust her trajectory, then took the helmet off and waved it in front of himself to show her the blinking disks of the Shroud inside.   
“Is this what you want?”  
The eyes of the harpy nearly bulged out with greed. She shrieked again and stretched her claws forward, seeing nothing else but the helmet. In the last moment, Orell jumped to the side and nearly stumbled over a Red still rubbing his ears, but he heard a satisfying thump from behind. The Minions immediately jumped the harpy and clobbered her to death before she could scream again, but the victory was short-lived. Rushing of wings and piercing wails indicated more harpies coming down. “They killed our sister!”  
“Their yellow eyeballs will be mine!”  
“No! Mine!”  
Anger had changed their melodious voices into a hideous screeching. The three harpies swooped down into the horde at the same time. Two shrieked to disable the Minions, the third used a lower frequency, which made Orell cringe from the pain that exploded in his head. No wonder the Minions were useless when faced with such an attack. Two of the harpies grabbed a Minion each and carried them off, the third went for Orell. Having been unable to put his helmet back on, he had to shield his eyes from her talons with his left arm and blindly hacked at the harpy with his sword.  
He was bleeding out of several gashes on his head when he managed a hit and the harpy let go. He moment she was off, Orell grabbed his helmet and put it back on.   
“By Punarim's shiny golden arse!” it resounded from the Shroud as soon as Grime was able to see what was going on. It seemed like Gnarl was indeed a proficient teacher.  
One of the Minions that were grabbed by the harpies fell from the skies and landed on a patch of naked rock with a sickening crack. The other Minion must have freed himself from the other harpy's grip, as the harpy was attacking the horde again.  
“Dammit, dammit, dammit, there are too many to make them fly against the trees! Maybe if you use the spiders somehow-” The rest was cut off by the harpy's shriek.  
Despite the pain in his ears Orell managed to keep the harpy at a distance this time. She slashed at him with her talons but didn't dare to come closer and bring her wings into the sword's range. Seeing her attack was thwarted, she turned around and aimed for the Minions instead. The spiders were unaffected by the shrieks, they reared up and showed their fangs to the flying threats, but with the Greens on their backs cringing in pain they seemed uncontrollable. The three wolves were affected by the shrieks directed at the Minions as well and just as much in pain. Sap's currently riderless creature fell out at a passing harpy and made her drop the Red she was holding when the tentacles were wrapped around her leg. Before any of the surrounding Minions could take the opportunity, she kicked herself free and ascended above the range of their weapons.  
And all of a sudden it was raining fire.  
The ascending harpy was fully engulfed in flames almost instantly when the burning fluid splattered against her, the other harpy was hit several times on the wings and plummeted down, where the Minions' weapons and their mounts' teeth were waiting for her. The third harpy shot up into the canopy lika a comet, her tailfeathers on fire.   
Still not having fully processed what had happened, Orell looked around. In the same moment the screeching and sputtering of the last harpy vanished behind the soundscape of singing birds and buzzing insects, several Red Minions came running down the snaking tree trunks, with more joining from the underbrush.  
These were definitely not the Reds Orell had taken from the Netherworld, nor did they resemble any of the Reds from the Barracks. They were larger, more scarred and the material of their armour was dominated by blackened bones.  
“The Master is finally here!” one of them shouted after he pulled the chunks of lichen out of his ears. The group of seven marauders were talking in a flurry, madly grinning and greeting the equally elated Minions of Orell's horde.  
“Good, then I guess we can go back again,” Orell said. “Follow me.”  
“But Master,” the largest of the Reds stared at Orell with his ears askew, “rest still up on top of hill. You not want to take others with you?”  
_ Of course they had to be just at the top of the incline _ , Orell thought while frowning.  
“Well, then, lead the way.”  
The open area with the flowers was left behind quickly and shortly after, Gnarl returned.  
“Grime, get away! Excuse me Sire, his advice didn't maim or kill anyone yet? Oh, looks like I have missed something important, you have found the marauders already. Or did they find you?”  
Orell ignored the question. “It seems like the marauders aren't Blues, but I owe them my Minions. There had been a run-in with harpies.”  
“Ah yes, some nasty chickens they are. I will have Grubby to send a Gate there, it's been long since I've had roasted harpy.”  
Orell didn't remark on Gnarl's disgusting dietary habits as for the first time in days he was seeing sunlight again. The red marauders led him and his Minions out of the forest and on top of the completely bare hill, where only the scorched skeletons of trees and patches of the spongy lichen remained. A breeze blew away the mo u ldy stench of the Infected Forest and carried the faint smell of smoke instead. Large slaty plates were upturned into almost vertical positions and shaped small valleys in the rock, as if roots had once grown in them. Out of one of those root valleys, Orell saw red faces peeking out. Two of the red marauders ran towards them and they vanished in the shadows underneath the rock together.  
When Orell arrived at the root valley's entrance, more Reds were already waiting for him. He was surprised that there were so many of them. So far, he had only seen the group of four Greens that had been used to get him out of the Golden City's dungeons and that vanished as soon as their task was done, and the two Brown marauders from Nordberg's forests, Canis and Chasm. But there was about twenty of Reds grinning and greeting him, with some of them beckoning to follow into the root valley. Most of them were clad in the same blackened bones the group that attacked the harpies was wearing. Others were smaller and wore almost nothing and Orell couldn't help but stare at the strange, black lumps some of them had on the shoulders. Maybe the Infected Forest was harmful in the long term, after all.  
More Minions as joined the procession from the cracks between the plates, cheering, jumping, greeting him with “Master” and saying “Jet awaiting you”. Some of those Minions were sitting on the backs of strange red creatures that slightly resembled the spiky geese of the Infected Forest, which Gnarl quickly identified as salamanders, the chosen mounts of the Reds. Some of the Reds kept themselves at a distance, eyeing Orell and his Minions with curiosity. Those were the smaller ones, coloured in darker, less saturated shades of red, the particular ly small ones being of a dark brown instead. He recalled similar reactions in the Greens' settlement also coming from the younger ones. The chittering and cheering continued to grow louder, until Orell saw yet more Reds of wildly differing sizes ahead, waiting in a widened part of the chasm. The slate sheets were not covering the ceiling entirely and a wide shaft of light from the high-standing sun illuminated a streak on its bottom. Along this streak, the cluster of Reds parted to leave through a single Minion.  
This Minion was the largest of all, being nearly as tall as a Brown. Despite the size and the rank the behaviour of the other Minions implied, this one wore the blackened bone armour only sparingly, revealing both his stringy muscles as well as his large belly. The Red's coiled horns were almost longer than Igniot's.  
Albeit, 'Red' was probably the wrong term, since this individual's skin was pitch-black.   
“Greetings, Overlord,” Jet spoke with a voice as dark as his skin.  
“Hm, that must explain why this group of marauders is so big,” Gnarl said. “This must be their matriarch.”  
Bewildered, Orell stared to the side, as if he could look at Gnarl this way. “Their  _ what _ ?”  
“A few select females are born with the ability to impose their will onto other Minions. They use it mostly to make themselves a comfortable life, have the others get them food, to entertain them and gather a harem to sire and raise their brood. And this one seems to be quite the prolific specimen.”  
Even more bewildered, Orell stared back at Jet. Just like with Scruffy, he wasn't able to see a difference between her and the other Reds, even though this one revealed almost everything. The thought that a good part of the red marauders here were her children was disturbing him more than it should. As he let his eyes travel over the assembled Minions, he saw how one of the black lumps on one Red's shoulders opened two large yellow eyes and lifted its head. What Orell initially thought to be a mutation caused by the Infected Forest revealed itself to be the pup of a Red.  
“There is no need to be so disturbed, Lord,” Gnarl continued, noticing Orell's discomfort. “This very ability had been transferred to the Hives, which allows you to use your Minions for higher ambitions, like world domination. It's also much stronger than that of any matriarch, you must not worry that one of them robs you of your Minions.”  
Before his thoughts could travel off into directions he didn't want to have them, Orell shook his head to clear it and focused on Jet, who was waiting patiently.  
“Are all of your Minions here? I will send a Red Gate to move them to the Netherworld.”  
“Send a proper Gate with it, Master. We have been guarding a treasure here.”  
“Oh, this sounds interesting,” Gnarl chimed in. “Flub, tell Grubby to get a Gate up as soon as possible! And you, Jet, be so nice and show your Master the treasure.”  
“Come,” the black-skinned Red said and turned around. The cluster of Reds parted again to let her and Orell through. Said treasure was not far away, stored in a dead end of the chasm where the walls had collapsed. What he saw made Gnarl sputter with surprise.  
“Master, this is... How did this end up here? This is one of the original Smelters, from the old Tower! The one for steel, if I'm not mistaken!” he said, giddy like a child in a pastry shop.  
The Smelter was most likely the enormous crucible that stood in the middle, surrounded by a few bags of gold and gems. Curiously, despite there was no fire to heat it, the top of the Smelter was emanating an orange glow, as well as a hissing and bubbling. It seemed like pure magic was keeping the metal inside molten.   
“Oh Master, this will allow you to imbue even the measly steel your armour is made of with magic!”  
Orell wasn't sure if Gnarl wanted to add anything else, as the sound of shattering rock and the spinning of the Netherworld Gates drowned everything out. Some of the red marauders, particularly those with black infants on their shoulders and the small ones that were of various shades of reddish brown jumped into the Red Gate, while the rest grabbed the bags with treasure to drop it into the main Gate or put their shoulders under the Smelter. While Orell deemed it impossible for the Minions to lift this massive piece of metal, it somehow still went up, swaying dangerously in the process. Maybe the magic that kept the metal molten was also making the Smelter light enough that it could be transported. The Reds placed it on top of the Gate and the crucible vanished in a pulse of the pillar of blue light.  
“This is indeed the old steel Smelter. Giblet will widdle himself with joy!” Orell heard Gnarl shout on the other end of the connection.  
With their entire treasure brought to the Netherworld, the red marauders were staring at Jet expectantly.  
“Have them all return to the Netherworld, save for a few select warriors,” Orell addressed her.  
A side glance from her was enough to have four large Reds decked in bone armour gather at her side and for the rest to vanish in the Red Gate one by one, together with the salamanders some of them were riding. As soon as the last marauder jumped in and little trace of the chasm's inhabitation was left, Orell have it a last look, then turned around to go back the way he had come. It was time to bring the proof of the marauder colony's retrieval to the elven settlement and to talk to their leader. 


	15. Uninvited Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Orell is in an audience again, talks with Gnarl while the Browns find a carcass to jump on, finds out what kind of creature Sap was riding, finds some paladins that in a true Easter spirit are slaughtering mutated bunnies and gets almost eaten by a giant weasel relative. And the Browns find out that jumping on that carcass was probably not that good of an idea after all. Meanwhile, Giblet widdles himself from joy because of the smelter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, critique and reviews in general are appreciated. Seriously, there is nothing more motivating to write more than reviews.

Something unusual was going on in the Forge.  
Ingrid took her gaze off the spinning rocks out in the abyss and looked back, to the direction the jumble of elated Minion voices was coming from. Since the reason for the commotion was not in sight, she stepped away from the ledge where she had been enjoying her break and deeper into the Forge, towards the voices.  
She found the voices' source around several turns, far behind the anvil and hearth she and Giblet usually worked at. A lot of brown and red Minions were assembled there, shouting over one another, grinning with wide eyes and running around. The reason for this turmoil, an object in the middle of the Minions, made Ingrid stare in awe.  
It seemed to be an impossibly-large crucible, so tall even two men standing on each other's shoulders would barely be able to look into it. The pockmarked metal was decorated with sigils and gems, which looked surprisingly well-preserved. Despite not being near to the next suitable fire and seemingly having come directly from the teleportation gate which Giblet received his materials and supplies from, the metal inside it was glowing and bubbling, kept liquid by an invisible heat source.  
Before Ingrid could say anything, a masked face separated itself from the mass of Minions and steered towards her.  
“Mastah found smelter!” Giblet shouted, shaking with excitement.   
“This is a  _ smelter _ ?” Ingrid asked in disbelief. “This doesn't look like anything I have seen ever before.”  
“Magic smelter! Belonged to old Tower,” the Forgemaster said. “Can forge things much faster and add magic to forged things, too.”  
Ingrid stared at the object again. A magical smelter...  
She had heard a lot about magical artefacts in her blacksmith career, mostly thanks to the sun-worshippers frequenting her forge. Swords with flaming blades, arrowheads that went straight for the target with no wind or gravity taking them off their course, poison-detecting cutlery, even a cauldron that would produce an endless supply of semolina pudding once put over a fire. Those tales had always inspired her to do her best and create metalworks that could compete with those magical artefacts, to have them wander into the hands of someone who would say 'this item might be magical, but  _ this _ work was forged with diligence and love for the art'. With her small forge in a small village, diligence and love for the art were the only kind of magic she could have imbued her works with.  
And now she was in front of a tool capable of producing wonders itself.   
“Giblet, when will the smelter be ready to use?”  
“Tomorrow, tomorrow!” the Minion shouted ecstatically, but then lowered his ears. “But need permission from Mastah.”  
“I will put in a good word for you,” Ingrid replied. “There is no way this smelter will remain unused tomorrow.”  
  
Orell wondered why he hadn't placed a Gate next to the elven settlement before he had gone to retrieve the Red marauders. Small risk of damaging the Gates again or not, he could be standing in front of the settlement's leader by now, but instead he was trying not to slip on mushrooms and avoid the loose rock pieces hidden underneath the moss layer while he descended the steep slope of the hill. Walking uphill seemed to have been easier in comparison. At least the Minions had their fun; the spider-riding Greens, not affected by the slope, took detours over the trees, the Browns laughed whenever they or anyone else slipped a few metres down and the shield carriers among them even used their shields as makeshift sleighs.  
When they left the slope behind and were moving over halfways flat terrain again, the numb feeling in Orell's legs told him there would be sore muscles for Mortis to heal in the next morning. At least, neither the harpies nor the scorpion creatures showed up and the creatures present didn't exceed the size of housecats.  
  
The two elves were already awaiting them above the gates, absorbed in a conversation and laughing about something. Orell had to greet them to get their attention.  
“As you requested, I have taken all of the creatures with me,” he continued, then pointed at Jet. “This is their leader. Now fulfill your part of the trade.”  
One of the elves, the apparently taller one with orange hair and a rather silly-looking hat made of leaves looked down, furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of Jet and the other bone-clad Red marauders, then nodded. Both elves vanished out of sight and a few minutes later, the large wings of the portal creaked open.  
  
Despite bearing its mark, the inside of the elven village was notably different from the exteriors of the Infected Forest. The trees, creating a separate canopy for the village below the canopy of snaking trees far above, had ordinary tree shapes, although their leaves were enormous, with blue-glowing veins, and their branches were unusually overhanging with roots directly descending from them into the soil below. In between the roots and illuminated by the multitude of strange, veiny bulbs strung up on the twiners growing everywhere were the dwellings of the elves, which were for the most part built from branches, bark, mushroom leather and other materials of the forest, or grown from the living roots of the trees and other plants. However, especially the larger buildings were at least partially made of white, moss-covered stone.  
Orell recognized the stone. The same material had been used for the elven ruins, where he had successfully summoned the first Gate in the Infected Forest and where he was attacked by the Sarul-Ras before he could enter. If this village was built on the remains of an elven ruin it would explain the twisted plants avoiding the place, even if the influence of the original elven magic being much weaker here. It was similar to the very first ruin he had passed on the first day with Yerael, where the magic in the rocks had barely proven any resistance to the Infected Forest's advance.  
The redheaded elf with the silly hat, who agreed to take Orell and the Minions to their leader didn't give more time to ponder on the issue, as he moved with a brisk walk in between the roots, houses and people. Despite his armour and the horde of Minions with some wolves, giant spiders and a forest mutant following him, it was only a minority that recoiled in horror upon the sight and fled into the nearest hut. Many of the people just gave Orell and his small followers a curious stare. The inhabitants were elves like the ones Orell had already met in the first village, but some of them were dressed in finely-crafted robes made from spider silk or wore the flamboyantly-coloured clothes the elves from Everlight preferred. And with some of the elves Orell wasn't even sure if they were ordinary elves at all, since something seemed to be off about them. But maybe it was just the effect of the flickering blue-green light from the glowing bulbs.  
The redheaded elf led them over a vine bridge above a small creek flowing through the village's confines, then up a small, gently-sloping hill. On top of it, Orell could make out a building that couldn't be anything else other than the place the village's leader was inhabiting.  
It was built from the most intact stone ruin Orell had seen so far, with many of the walls and even parts of the roof still present. That which had not survived the tooth of time gnawing on it had been replaced by the tightly interwoven roots of a mighty tree that grew right next to it, overshadowing the building and its surroundings with its light-bearing canopy. It was the building the elf was heading for, straight towards the small opening at its front, the right half of it consisting of the remains of a stone arch, the left half made from the living wood of the tree.  
“Wait here,” the elf said and pushed the curtain of bead chains aside, which closed off the building's entrance. He vanished in the darkness behind and returned barely a minute later.  
“Laendel is ready to meet you.” The elf stepped aside to let Orell through. The Minions, while hesitant at first, all followed him inside.   
The inside of the building was lit by the same bulbs as outside, partially hanging on the vines that grew in from the windows and cracks in the walls, partially growing on tomato-like potted plants that seemed to stand on every elevated surface. Aside from the plants the room was sparsely-furnished, but the amount of decorative elements made up for it. The walls were all covered with tapestries to the point it was almost impossible to tell which part of the room was stone and which was wood, only interrupted by bead curtains that marked the entrances to side rooms. And while each tapestry depicted something else, all of the designs were put together in a way they led the eye along towards the thick roots growing into the room from the adjacent wall and formed something akin to a throne.  
The root throne was occupied by a slumped figure too small for it. Clad in an ornamental robe made from gleaming spider silk, the already thin frame of the elderly man appeared even more shrunk. With his face as gnarly as the roots and his long, white hair and beard interwoven with beads and flowers reminded Orell of Aurenthuria's druid delegate Alderius, but Laendel was much older.  
“Speak, visitor,” the elder's voice croaked.  
“Eh, looks like this forest really wants me to see an Overlord in embarrassing situations that perpetually exceed each other,” Gnarl sighed.  
Orell saw what Gnarl meant. This situation was awfully similar to the audience in the morning, only that he had switched places.  
“I came here because of your paladin problem.”  
The elder leaned forwards, fixating Orell with his watery but awake eyes. “What business do you have with the paladins?”  
This was not the answer Orell was expecting. “They are my as well as your enemies. They need to be fought out of the forest.”  
“You didn't answer my question, warrior. I see you standing here, glowing eyes, three-spiked helmet and a horde of creatures of dark magic behind you. It wasn't even seventy years ago someone like you was walking the forest of Evernight. I remember that man, he never did anything out of charity.”  
“Ah, good to know they still remember the old man,” Gnarl commented, pride swinging in his voice.  
This little audience proved to be more interesting than Orell had thought. He decided it would be the safest measure to reveal about his real plans as little as possible, to slowly approach the truth until it was deemed fine enough.  
“Indeed, I am not doing it for charity,” Orell replied. “The paladins have something I want.”  
The elf raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “And these paladins have what you need right here, right now? Why would you go into these twisted remains of Evernight, when waiting for the paladins to come out and attacking them outside would be the wiser decision?”  
“Maybe what I want isn't something they are able to carry with them. And maybe I am working against time and cannot allow myself to sit and wait. You seem to know about others like me and likely are aware of what their desires were. Conquest. And conquest needs resources. Wood, ropes and leather. What place would you look for on the map which not only has that aplenty, but is also able to regrow it very quickly? I am interested in the Infected Forest itself, and the paladins are planning to take it away now. I have to stop them here and now, before they can drive out its inhabitants and then burn the entirety of the forest down.”  
The elder suddenly dropped his calm compositure and his eyes widened for a moment, before the expression was replaced by scorn, his impressively-sized eyebrows drawing together until it looked like he had only one brow. “So their zeal won over their ability to reason, after all. We had helped them build their empire, provide them with raw materials and this is how they are thanking us,” he said more to himself than to Orell, who was glad the questioning of his motives was over.  
“Why? Why this sudden change of heart?” Laendel addressed Orell. He looked more sad than angry now. “They had left us in peace for decades, every time they raised their voices they were easy to appease. Why do they now want to take our homes away?”  
“A hunt didn't go the way one of their nobility was having in the forest. The son of Count Doran met his end here,” Orell answered truthfully.  
“Count Doran, so...” The scorn returned to Laendel's face. “It would suit this human-shaped glob of slime mold to get Aurenthuria do such a thing. And even if this isn't Aurenthuria's doing, his wealth and connections were probably convincing enough for the wretched sods acting in his behalf.”  
Orell raised an eyebrow, invisible underneath his helmet. “Do you know Count Doran?”  
“I knew him once very well. He was in fact a close friend.”  
“But if I go against his men and against himself in the end, can I count on your support in this endeavour?”  
“The emphasis is on  _ was _ . Our friendship has soured long ago, fell apart like fall frost under the sun. His attempt to destroy the homes of many because of his son's folly only puts another nail into that friendship's coffin.”  
“Oh, this is getting more and more amusing,” Gnarl chuckled on the other end of the connection.  
You can have my support in your endeavour to remove Doran's lackeys from the forest. However, I want your word in exchange. Your word that you will not replace the paladins and attempt to end what they are starting. Now that we know what we are up against, we will not hold back, should you turn against us.”  
Orell gave a short nod.  
“What is it what you wish from me, Lord of Darkness?” Laendel asked after a short pause.  
“Information. I need to know if there are paladins in these parts of the Infected Forest right now and if yes, where exactly. And I need you to inform the nearby villages why the paladins have come, as well as of my plans of stopping them. The less support they get from the locals and the more support I have from them, the easier it is for me to deal with the paladins.”  
“Scouts have informed us today morning that a group was nearing their outpost near Sonithral from the southeast. They probably aren't very far yet. At the east side of the village is a gate, the road behind it will lead you straight to Sonithral, where you will find what you seek.”  
Rather than saying anything, Orell made a respectful gesture, turned around and left Laendel's home through the same door he had entered. He still heard the elderly leader to call someone to his side and tell him to prepare the messenger birds.  
  
The guide was waiting outside. First, he wanted to lead Orell back to the main gate, but upon telling that he needed to go to the east gate, the elf perplexedly stared at him for a few moments, then led him to the desired destination. The part of the village that led to the gate was more densely forested, with the trees being smaller but more numerous here and twiners tightening the space between the many roots further.  
The village's inhabitants were seen less often walking and more often working – sewing garments from mushroom leather, weaving, producing different works of art or manipulating plants into new shapes with their magic. None of them looked up and paid any heed to the strange assemblage walking past. The only exception was one of the off-looking elves who sat on a root section. He looked up from his weaving to pierce Orell's eyes with his own.  
“I can feel her calling, her who are many. She is singing, her light is pointing to the skies,” the elf said. Orell looked back at the elf for a moment, but he couldn't ask him about those ominous words, as the guide didn't slow down and the danger to lose him between the roots was too great.   
Despite the more numerous diversions by the denser flora, the gate was reached quickly. It lay closer to the main building than the main gate did, and with the brisk pace the elf preferred it took barely a few minutes to reach. A short command to the surprised-looking guards loitering around in the gate's proximity later, the wings swung open to release Orell and his horde back onto a cobblestone road in the Infected Forest. They seemed to be glad to have them out of their village again.  
Orell, meanwhile, was grateful for the absence of listening ears.  
“An elven leader and a xenophobic fanatic once having been friends, who would have thought.”  
“Eh, people change sometimes,” Gnarl said. “What is much more important is what the pointy-eared plum implied. Sire, I have the suspicion that at either one of them or both have been heroes, involved in the death of your predecessor. Trusting that hairy bonsai is something I would advice against.”  
"I will look out, Gnarl, but I do need the forest's elves on my side. Even if Laendel might have been a hero, his disgust at the paladins' doing seemed genuine enough for me. As you said, people change.”  
“I wouldn't entrust my life to a proverb if I were you, Master, even if that proverb came from me. With him knowing what the paladins are doing now, he could have very well spread the message to riddle anyone in plate armour with arrows, including yourself. That way he would have gotten rid of two enemies at once. I suggest you to ignore the settlements altogether and take the paladins on your own, Sire. The last few times Overlords decided to cooperate with elves didn't end well.”  
Orell didn't notice how he slowed down until he stopped walking. “Even if it were so, cooperation is key this time. If Laendel isn't planning what you suggested and his messenger birds arrive well before me, this would both provide me with benefits and harm the paladins. If he is planning what you suggested, I'm not planning to walk into the next elven assemblage without thinking, the Sarul-Ras ambush taught me enough about that. All in all, giving the elves a chance to cooperate would play out much better than doing everything on my own and eventually having two enemies and no allies, should the elves decide the sight of an armoured man meandering through their forest seems not trustworthy enough.”  
“As an Overlord, you don't have to rely on allies. You have the Minions. With them, it can be guaranteed you don't run into any traitors, backstabbers or compensation demands.”  
“And I won't run into anybody being able to provide me with details regarding the Infected Forest's geography and quirks, either. Besides, Minions will surely not be able to form a resistance within the Golden City's walls to soften it up before I arrive.”  
  
Chops only listened to the discussion of his Master and Gnarl with only one ear, while he poked around in the moss for worms and insects. First they had to stand around and listen to the Master talk to the old elf in the stone-tree house, now they were standing around again, listenig to the Master talk to Gnarl. It had been boring recently, and the rest of the Minions were feeling the same way. Some tended to their equipment, some foraged for food like Pudge. Raider and Knud were trading pieces of equipment with each other and Deek had found a nice spot of moss to nap on.  
_ A good fight would be great right now _ .  
Chops lifted both ears and took his attention off his Master's voice. He was sure he heard someone calling. A second call confirmed his assumption. He recognized the voice of Cribble. Elated, he ran towards its source, like a few other Browns did as well. Cribble has always been an inquisitive Minion and he often shared his findings with others. Maybe he had found something bigger and tastier to eat than just insects and worms. Or better yet, something fun to kill together.   
Chops found Cribble's purple Sarul-Ras headdress together with its owner between the tree tangles close to the road. He and Stumps were both grinning widely, but Chops felt disappointed when he saw why the two were so elated.  
“But it already dead,” Knud grumbled, having been eager for some killing like Chops was.   
The grin on Cribble's face remained where it was. “Dead, but still fun. Want to see?” He jumped on the carcass and blue spores erupted from it in a billowing cloud. “Gets all dusty!”  
Stumps jumped on the carcass as well, producing an even bigger spore cloud. “This more fun than jumping on sheepies! And big enough for all!”  
Chops grinned when he realized why Cribble found the carcass interesting, despite it being, well,  _ dead _ . More and more Minions joined in jumping around on the carcass and Chops was soon among them, not wanting to be left out of the fun.  
  
“Yes, Gnarl, I can tell that you only want to help. But I do suspect that Aurenthuria already knows about my presence or is at least in the process of being informed. The rock has been kicked loose, now it's to outrun the avalanche. And having the native elves as helpers along the way will make me deal faster with the paladins and continue on to more urgent matters.”  
He heard a bit of grumbling over the link. “Well, as you wish, Sire, you are the Overlord, after all. It would be a good idea to get moving to outrun the avalanche since time's that- just look at those lazy lardlickers!”  
Only now did Orell notice that his walk had come to a standstill some time ago and his Minions were spending their time with amusing themselves, so caught up had he been while talking to Gnarl. Most of them were looking for something to eat on the ground or on the lower-hanging trunks of the snaking trees, some were playing games with each other and some were even asleep.  
How long had he been talking to this advisor?  
Orell was about to call the Minions back when he heard screaming further ahead. While briskly walking towards the sounds to investigate, he already noticed the screaming didn't stem from an attack, but from felicity. And when he found the group of squealing and wildly laughing Minions close to the cobblestone-paved road, he could see why they were so elated.  
The Browns had found a large carcass of a vaguely lizard-like creature, its features barely recognizable under the hyphae and fruiting bodies of an antler-shaped fungus, and were now jumping around on it. The ribcage sprung well and every jump made more of the blue spores fill the air around it. Some of the Minions were covered in a spore layer so thick their original brown colour was invisible, with their skin and their equipment alike having turned the same shade of blue.  
“Enough of this, get moving!”  
While some of the Minions complied immediately and regrouped behind Orell together with the rest, a few others grumbled a bit while shaking and beating the spores off before they joined. The Minions not involved in the carcass-jumping laughed at the sight of the blue Browns, but particularly Wellsy gave them a sour look. 

Without any other comments from Gnarl, they were advancing quickly. The roads were a blessing after the days of winding themselves through, over and under the dense and convoluted vegetation.  
Orell's thoughts began to circle around the issue of Minion sacrifices to bring a fallen clan member back. And despite his thoughts not being constantly interrupted by Gnarl's remarks about elves now, he still couldn't find an alternative for this.  
He tried to focus on the business ahead instead. Unfortunately, the elder didn't tell him how many paladins were seen entering the forest; something he had forgotten to ask himself. One thing was for sure, this was not a group of rookies taken out by their commander for a walk. These would have to be more experienced individuals in greater numbers. If he was lucky. If he wasn't, they would be more individuals in greater numbers carrying holy artefacts to aid them bracing the forest. And most likely, the group of paladins seen by the elves in the village behind them was not the only one.  
Sounds brought Orell out of his thoughts and back into reality again. They weren't the calls of the wildlife, the whistling of Sarul-Ras arrows, or, Punarim forbid, the squeaking of that murderous gnome, but the giggling, yelping and grumbling of the Minions behind him.  
A look behind told very clearly the reason for their noisyness: they were bored. Without the constant alertness, the lingering expectations that the next turn could reveal a dangerous beast, that the next trunk or the next root hole could be the home of something out for their blood and there was no way to tell the creatures were there until it was too late, all what was left was a mindless trudge forwards, on the moss-covered cobblestones that seemed to drive the creatures of the forest away and those that still used it could be spotted far ahead, with enough time to retreat into the dense vegetation that bordered the road.  
But like per order, Orell turned ahead to see one of the spider riders tasked with scouting return.  
“Master! Unicorn-worm-thingy coming this way,” the Green said, his face bearing more confusion than alertness. The Minions reacted with elation, cheering and some particularly bold specimens running a few steps ahead, trying to get a glimpse of anything unusual on the road.  
Orell cut the elation with a callback command and moved into the thick snaking tree underbrush to let the creature pass.   
“Master, I suggest that you take care of the creature passing by like a proper Overlord rather than hiding in the underbrush like a highwayman with compunction,” Gnarl broke the prolonged silence. “Your Minions are bored to the point of running away. And please think of the Hives, not that they run dry from the little lifeforce brought to them.”  
“Gnarl, this is not the time to discuss this”, Orell hissed while he tried to get a view of the road behind the tangle of vines he had chosen as a hiding spot. “We are on the search for a group of paladins, I will not waste any more time or Minions on the wildlife than absolutely necessary.”  
“You forget morale, Sire. While slightly bored Minions might be particularly enthusiastic about turning some paladins into scrap metal, very bored Minions won't be as effective. In the worst case, they will release their pent-up energy elsewhere, which might result in less Minions without any additional lifeforce to make up for it.”  
“Yes, and if I engage the creature, I will definitely have less Minions, unless it's an arthritic maggot with a muzzle. Even the _gnomes_ here are resulting in less Min- what in the Abyss!”  
The creature the mounted Green had warned about went around the corner just in the right moment. His description had been spot-on, when the creature was to be described from a passing glance with bad lighting conditions. At first, it looked like a speckled unicorn, but as it came closer, it also became clearer how off this description was. Its joints were bending in the wrong places and in ways impossible for a proper unicorn.   
And the speckles weren't speckles at all, but patches of missing skin.  
Even in the dim light of the Infected Forest Orell could see that there was _something_ underneath this unicorn skin that didn't belong there at all, as if this something had devoured the sacred animal from the inside out and was now wearing the remains like a suit. Orell felt nauseated from the thought.  
The Minions, on the other hand, didn't care. The closer the once-unicorn came, the wider their grins grew and the louder they were giggling and jabbering among each other. Orell hissed at them to be quiet, but it only seemed to encourage them more. They were eager for a fight to the point of this eagerness overriding the desire to follow orders.   
A mental command silenced them.  
“Listen, you will get your fight soon enough,” Orell told them. “Now I want you lot to be silent and let that creature pass, because the faster it goes away, the faster we can be on the way of our own, which means you get to crush a few paladin-shaped tin cans sooner.”  
He wasn't sure how well the explanation was taken up by the Minions. They were showing conflicted faces, some staring solemnly at their master, the eyes of others were shooting between Orell and the advancing creature. He was sure they would now keep themselves under control.  
He turned out to be wrong.   
The creature was walking calmly past their hiding place, showing its grotesque development in its full glory. The battered unicorn skin of the creature was bulging and creasing unnaturally with every movement and the slime-encrusted holes were revealing the armour plates and bristly flesh underneath. But while the creature's body still resembled a distorted version of the unicorn, the similarity dropped at the neck and head. The skin of the neck was rippling like a swarm of angry eels was trapped inside, but the head... The head had no semblance to an unicorn at all, rather it was a deformed, skull-less mass with the horn wobbling around like the rapier of a fencer and the orifices being overstretched by the masses of tentacles darting out of them to feel into the air, then retract and being replaced by another tentacle.  
Orell felt like recoiling from disgust. His eyes were searching for something else than this grotesque mass to focus on. They didn't have to search for long – relief came in the form of two brown schemes shooting out of the undergrowth on his right side, uttering war cries and weapons raised over their heads.  
Orell was too thrown-off for a few moments before he realized the schemes were his own Minions, throwing the command of staying hidden into the wind. Then, following the most valuable lesson from Gnarl, he uttered a stream of curses that would have made a a dwarven engineer proud.  
This all was too similar to the escalation back then in Faairdal.  
Before the two idiots could get themselves killed, Orell had left the cover of the underground himself, giving the mental command to the rest of the Browns to attack the startled creature while it was still startled. The Reds soon followed to provide ranged support to the Browns and the Greens were sent up the snaking trees to drop onto the creature's back from above. If everything went well, the fight would be over before it properly started.  
With a twist of its body impossible to accomplish for an unicorn, the creature jumped back and out of the reach of the Minions to screech and chitter a threat into their direction. The first moss spiders falling from the snaking trees above forced it to fight back. The Greens only managed to add a few more holes to the unicorn skin before the probing horn forced them off.   
The horde of Browns tried to surround the creature, but for something still sticking inside its former host's skin, it was surprisingly nimble. It's legs danced out of the hacking and slashing weapons' range and an occasional kick got all too brash Browns out of the way. The Reds quickly stopped throwing fire once it was too evident they will rather hit one of their fellow Minions than the creature and the few hits they managed in the beginning only resulted in slightly singing the slime-soaked fur.   
The wolves were more successful with their attacks. They were faster and more daring, snapping at the kicking legs and tearing more and more of the unicorn skin off the reddish-brown layer of scales beneath, while their riders jabbed at the creature's torso. But when it looked like the wolves might manage to fell the creature, one of them bit into the exposed skin of the creature's leg, only to let go immediately and shake his head, as if the taste of the creature was unbelievably disgusting.  
Orell remained at a distance, out of the way of the swarming Minions and mounts. He watched how the Minions got increasingly frustrated by the fight's progress. They didn't manage anything beyond adding more tears and holes to the unicorn pelt, while the creature just kept bolting around and flinging Minions to the side. Particularly the Browns seemed to be very displeased of the course of the fight; soon enough, there were almost as many Minions thrown to the ground by other Minions as there were by their actual enemy. In turn, the creature's defense literally doubled when it unfurled the other two pairs of legs that had been tucked away inside the unicorn's skin and put them into use as well.  
As Orell thought about calling the Minions back and have them regroup before the horde ended up in total chaos, Sap's mount turned the situation around.  
Having lost its rider somewhere in the tumult, it positioned itself in front of the bucking unicorn parasite and emitted a chittering screech, its tentacles spread wide. Both Minions and parasite stopped in their tracks, the latter turning around to face Sap's mount. Two more calls followed, which the unicorn parasite replied to with a low rumbling. Then the white pelt of its neck and head was torn to pieces when its true body winded itself out from the body orifices and already-present tears. All of a sudden, the body was surrounded by a corona of tentacles and a second, lower, chittering screech echoed through the forest. The creature then stepped back and folded its slime-covered, partially bleeding tentacles into a tight knot.  
This was the moment one of the Browns decided to get out of the collective stupor and and bashed his club against one of the creature's legs. The creature bolted up, but rather than kicking the Minion away, it jumped over their collective heads and darted away into the snaking tree tangles growing next to the road. The Minions immediately gave chase.  
As soon as Orell had recollected himself from the strangeness of the two creatures' dialogue, he gave the running Minions the mental command to return. If the Minions didn't manage to kill the creature and the creature was unwilling to participate, he would rather conserve time and energy for more important matters.The Minions had probably exerted themselves enough and if Gnarl still demanded lifeforce to be gathered, some of the smaller and less quick creatures of the forest would suffice.  
Minions stopped in their tracks and returned to Orell's side, but a good chunk of the horde ignored the command completely and ran after the fleeing creature unbraked, shouting and laughing. Orell cursed and, out of any other ideas, ran after them, following the swath the creature left. The still-loyal Minions stayed behind him, but Sap, now mounted again, overtook them. At least, his solemn and slightly worried expression showed that he wasn't affected by the frenzy of the Minion group ahead. The mount seemed more agitated and chittered all the way as it ran with its tentacles spread.  
Tentacles that were like the tentacles hidden inside the head and neck of the unicorn's skin. Both had the same number and shape of legs, and both had the same kind of scales and plates covering their bodies.   
While the fleeing creature took a relatively easy path, it was also fast. The Minion group running after it was having little trouble following it, but this wasn't true for Orell. The branches and twiners in this path were slowing him down and the barely-visible roots on the ground had made him almost fall several times already. But even if he and the Minions behind him fell back, they still had no problem following the noisy group ahead. Although, Gnarl was doing his best it drowning out the shouting and laughing.  
“Crap-curdling cowpats! Did these arse warts have elven herbs for breakfast? Furuncle-fuckers, the lot of them! Sire, when you catch up, you _have_ to punish their behaviour! Grime, go and oil the torture instruments...”  
The rest of the swearing Orell decided to not pay attention to, as something way more interesting made its way through the ambient sounds of the forest to his ears. It was the shouting and laughing of his Minions that steadily grew louder the further he went, now with the added sounds of the clashing of weapons. Whatever was going on ahead, Orell was sure it was not the Minions having caught up to the tentacled unicorn parasite.  
The source of the sounds were found on a small clearing. As expected, the creature the Minions were chasing was nowhere to be seen; instead, the entities the Minions encountered by chance and were now fighting against was a small group of paladins. They seemed to have been doing what paladins were often doing in natural settings – their swords were stained with a multitude of bodily fluids of varying colours and the ground around them was littered with small, furred creatures with six legs and three protruding jaws, looking like they once had been rabbits. Now these stained swords were swung at the enthusiastic gaggle of Minions which finally got a chance to satisfy their overbubbling bloodlust. They had also payed their price in blood for their satisfaction, as two were already lying on the ground motionlessly and a third one had such a severely wounded leg that he was unable to stand.  
Orell didn't think long and just sent the rest of his Minions forwards. The sudden sight of him had startled the paladins long enough for the Minions being able to charge in without much resistance. Suddenly, the men were facing a wall of makeshift weapons stabbing and hacking at them, while the Reds finally got to use their fire again, making the fight more uncomfortable for the paladins one fireball sticking to their armour at a time. Once the wolves came into play, one paladin started to go down after another before Orell had even had the chance to reach the fight and contribute himself.  
However, the Minions didn't manage to get all of them. One paladin at the back of the group shouted “Retreat!” and rattled away before the word was fully spoken. Those that managed to follow him held the Minions off, while he vanished in the underbrush and out of sight. Orell gave a mental command to not follow them before he had seen for himself where the paladins went. He wouldn't risk another blunder like the one with the scorpion creatures that ended with him and the Minions falling down an unseen chasm.  
As he had crossed half of the clearing, the heard a sound completely out of place. It was a metallic hissing and creaking. When he reached the sight-obstructing underbrush and parted the leaves, all Orell could see was the shine of the paladins' armour quickly careening away on a brazen machine that looked like a beer kettle on six articulated legs. Despite the machine being big and unwieldy, it moved surprisingly fast throught he tangles of the forest, too fast to be caught up with.  
Still having the sounds of the machine's heavy steps and of splintering wood in his ears, Orell turned around. Some of the Minions were busy stripping the corpses of their armour plates to add to their own outfits, others were finishing off the Minions beyond saving or the still-living paladins. One Brown was enthusiastically and loudly bashing the helmeted head of a paladin with his club, despite it having been turned into a mess of bloody scrap metal already.  
Orell called the Minions to his attention, making them freeze in their actions. And with the repetitive banging of the club against the metal gone, he could make out what he wanted to hear – the groaning of a wounded man.   
He rolled the paladin on his back, then pulled the sun-engraved helmet off his head.  
“If you cooperate, I can make your suffering short or spare you, depending on what you wish. If you don't, my little friends here will happily volunteer to _prolong_ your suffering. Now, where were you lot heading to?”  
The paladin didn't answer. He just started to laugh. “As if I'm going to tell you anything. What does it matter, my brothers will pull you out of that husk and crush you like the parasite you are either way.” He continued laughing, until he started to cough. Orell gave the man a last, disgusted look, then called the Minions to his side and left the clearing.  
“Hey, what is with the prolonged suffering you promised me?” he heard from behind.   
Orell ignored the voice, the creatures of the forest would take care of his wish sooner or later. Five paladins lay dead or would be dead soon, four escaped with a dwarven machine. Whatever they did here, this hadn't been an organised group of paladin stars with their leaders, as none of them bore the golden embroidering on their armour signifying leadership. Such a group meant they were not far away from their outpost and in the time spent in the Infected Forest, Orell had picked up a bit about how to read traces from Yerael. The dwarven machine was big and unwieldy enough to lay a well-visible trail to his goal.  
But more importantly, this encounter had also killed six Minions. For an uncoordinated attack, this was a pretty low body count, but these deaths could have been prevented if the Minions didn't run out on their own to chase the fleeing creature.  
As soon as Orell was sure he was out of the hearing range of the remaining paladin who was left to die, he turned around to his Minions, the fury he felt making them shrink under his gaze.  
“What in the Abyss Serpent's name has _ridden you_? I did give you a clear order.” He stepped forwards, towards the Brown with the purple headdress he remembered to have seen running ahead of the split group.  
“ _One_ clear order. Which you had ignored, just to chase a tentacle monster wearing an unicorn suit.” The surrounding Minions discreetly stepped back, bringing more space between themselves and the purple-hatted Brown.  
“Had you scatterbrains even tried to consider the consequences?”  
Orell let his gaze wander over the retreating Minions, his voice still remaining surprisingly calm. “Of course you didn't. You could have run into something much worse than the paladins, could have fallen off a cliff, or into a trap... It surprises me so many of you got out of this alive,” he heard Gnarl mumbling something about torture instruments and changing that ratio, “because it could very well have ended with all of you having died for nothing.”  
He made a longer pause, to look intently at every single of the Minions he could recall having ran after the creature and ignoring his commands. “I am very disappointed in you.”  
He didn't even need to finish the last sentence before he saw a number of ears dropping and mouths opening in an expression of barely-contained horror.  
“Canis, have those that ran ahead sorted out. They will stay in the Barracks from now on.” While the horrified faces intensified and one of the Minions even started to wail softly, Canis only gave one of his characteristic, short nods. Orell turned around and followed the trail the machine of the paladins had left in its wake, leaving the Minions to follow him on their own.  
The Minions remained mostly silent after this and preferred to stay out of Orell's sight, even those who had not ran after the creature were unusually timid. _All for the better_ , Orell thought, as he could direct his full focus on the trail the paladins had left. While it was very easy to follow in the dense forest they had initially encountered the paladins, it soon became more rocky again with only a few faint scratches on the rocks indicating the way the machine went and the trails of large creatures that were passing the forest in these parts as well weren't very helpful, either. At least the loud machine seemed to have scared all the larger wildlife away.  
Orell felt like he had been tracking the machine for hours now. Sometimes he believed to hear the sounds of creaking brass or the hiss of escaping steam, but he never managed to encounter more than traces on the ground and damaged plants from the machine's passing. It was as if the paladins were making a fool of him on purpose. He had to give up the search once Gnarl informed him that night would fall soon.  
  
Alderius examined the leaflet's design again, even if it was too late to make any changes now. He couldn't hear his own thoughts in the rattling and hissing of the printing machine next to him, but he did feel a bit of pride for the work he and the other druids had invested.  
“Are you satisfied?” he heard a voice shout against the printing machine. The voice came from a portly, greying dwarf with rich clothing and an impressive beard. Harfal, the owner of the printery.  
In the end, the druids had decided to use Alderius' idea and anonymously leave pamphlets in the Golden City, detailing the Punarim church's and Count Doran's depravity. It had been a long and tiring debate on what should be put onto the pamphlet and what shouldn't, but in the end they managed to reach a consensus. The template had went to Harfal's printery in the following night and this night the machines were ready. Steam hissed, wheels and belts spun and the machine spat out one printed sheet after another, adding to the already impressive pile.  
Being a druid, Alderius couldn't see in it the same beauty as he saw in an orchid or an orb weaver, but watching the machine was still oddly fascinating. Absent-mindedly, he nodded his approval to Harfal.  
It would be a long night. Now that the plan was fully formed and brought to paper, it would have to be distributed among the folks. Dorgrey had pinpointed the places and times where to lay out the pamphlets or to glue them to the walls, Saaek was the one responsible to hire the right people to do this. They had planned through the process several times and eliminated any clues that would lead the pamphlets to themselves. It was a very risky endeavour that could threaten their very lives. Accordingly, the pamphlets were crudely designed, had various spelling mistakes and badly constructed sentences, both to blur any connections to anyone with an education as well as to appeal to the poorer masses, which were their main target to inform.  
The machine's sounds changed and the leaflets stopped pouring out of it.   
“Alright, shunt it and and take the kettle off, we're done!” Harfal shouted.   
A few 'ayes' and 'alrights' from the dwarves operating the printing machine later, the sounds grew deeper, the wheels spun slower and the machine finally came to a halt.   
“So,” Harfal said, much quieter now that he didn't have to shout against the machine. “Your order is done. Five hundred prints, standard size, monochrome ink.”  
Alderius produced two bags from his robes. One contained gold, the other an assortment of rare and expensive Verrikeshi spices which the druids grew in their greenhouses. “Can I trust you that this order will remain a secret?”  
“Put a bit more faith into my business, will ya,” the dwarf said, but not without a warm smile parting his beard. None of the ledgers will have a word of it written on their pages, the paper was damaged by rats and the ink spilled by a clumsy assistant.”  
“I take you by the word.”   
Gold, spices and pamphlets changed their owners and Alderius left the building, making sure no one saw him. The pamphlets were packed away and hidden underneath his robes. The potted sapling he carried was used as a distraction. Whoever saw him now would assume he came from the royal garden to tend to a sick plant.  
They would start big. Tomorrow was market day in the brewery district and they had to make sure beer would not be the only thing the visitors would have to digest. Alderius was lucky that the way from the royal garden to the druid's greenhouses led through Flower Lane, a once prestigious but now decrepit place with tightly-placed, mostly empty houses.   
The place he would take the next step of the plan.   
  
The next morning began early, and early was the continuation of the search for the paladin outpost. Orell was pleased to see Canis had fulfilled the order and once the horde was summoned, the ones that got out of control yesterday were nowhere to be seen, replaced by several new Browns, looking both slightly anxious and eager. He hoped these new ones would behave better.  
It didn't take ten steps for Orell to start regretting the decision to leave for the night; the short time had been enough for the Infected Forest to start regenerating the damages. The flattened moss was standing upright again, crushed mushrooms and insects had been eaten at night and even the parts where the plant cover had been torn off by the machine's legs there were new seedlings sprouting already. However, once he spotted the trail of something large and clawed crossing the tracks of the machine, he remembered why searching at night would have been ill-advised.  
On this day, progress was much slower. The trail was so worn away in some sections that Orell had to backtrack several times, until he ultimately gave up and called Canis forwards to sniff out the trail. The other problem turned out to be the wildlife. The animals and not-quite-animals scared away by the dwarven machine had returned over the night and while most of them paid no heed to the travelling group or fled, there were still exceptions that acted aggressive. And as frustrated as Orell was, he engaged them in fights – very much to the delight of Gnarl, who constantly commented on how the influx of lifeforce will benefit Orell's endeavours in defeating the paladins, rebuilding and expanding the Netherworld and general conquest. Luckily, they managed to stay out of sight of the really large and dangerous creatures, the vast majority of the Minions injured in the fights were able to be sent off through a Minion Gate to be healed and replaced by another Minion.  
Time passed and frustrations grew, but the paladin outpost still stayed out of reach. In the end, Orell had spent the entire day with his fruitless search until nightfall forced to retreat once again.  
On the third day, the path left by the machine had overgrown almost completely and Orell had to rely entirely on the skills of Canis and Ferin to track the paladins. On the other hand, they met relatively few creatures this time, even the glowing pillbugs seemed to get rarer. This did fill Orell with some degree of optimism, as it was very likely the paladin outpost with its inhabitants made everything that could move flee for their lives.  
They discovered the reason for the absent wildlife at late afternoon.  
Having Canis lead the way, Orell let himself wander off into thoughts to distract himself from the nagging frustration. The Browns new to the forest had acclimated themselves well and had expanded their armour with bones, pieces of mushrooms and parts of their kills, now looking for tasty insects to eat or for threats to fight. Those riding wolves, spiders and, in one special case, a tentacled creature that probably started out as an unicorn parasite, were securing the flanks and back of the group to warn from any incoming threats or inform when they spotted something related to their search. It was Canis himself who found it first.  
The wolf-riding Brown had stopped to examine the structure and Orell nearly bumped into him before he realized the change in pace. The dwarven machine was lying next to the damaged trunk of a particularly large snaking tree, its kettle having grown cold, its limbs twisted and partially broken. The regenerative powers of the forest weren't able to reclaim the machine's surroundings yet, the furrows in the ground and the scratches in the tree trunk were too large. The scene appeared as if something had grabbed the machine and bashed it against the ground and the trunk repeatedly.  
There was no sign of the paladins, save for a single, crushed gauntlet.  
“Well, Sire, it looks like the forest had avenged their rabbits before the paladins could return home.”  
Orell wanted to curse, but all he could do was to clench his jaws and exhale slowly. All that search turned out to be for nothing. At least, he hoped that he was now on the right track towards the outpost and close enough for Ferin to pick up its smell. And since the four remaining paladins had been killed and eaten by whatever destroyed the machine, the outpost was oblivious and would be unprepared when he would finally find it.  
“Canis, can your wolf smell the presence of an encampment nearby? What...!”  
Ferin's ears were flat on his head and his fur was raised, both him and Canis looking around. The other Minions were following their example. And then Orell could hear a deep growl reverberating in the air and shaking the leaves. He immediately drew his weapon, but wasn't able to pinpoint where the sound had came from.   
To their luck, the creature didn't try an ambush. It came slowly and noisily from the right, a mass of matted fur and arm-long claws baring its teeth underneath the mass of blueish-pink tentacles its nose had split into. While being as wide as a brewery horse was long and having twice as many legs, the black and white stripes on its head betrayed its origins. The massive, mutated badger growled a second time and lazily swept his claws at the nearest Minions, threatening rather than intending to kill.   
The Reds immediately started to throw fire, barely giving time for the Minions to bolt away from the badger. The fuel splattered on its fur, but the fire didn't manage to spread, hardly doing anything more than to agitate the mutant. It hissed and stomped, then all of a sudden charged into the group. While most of the Minions managed to escape, Orell could hear a scream cut short by the sounds of a skull shattering when the badger bit down on an unfortunate Red.   
The other Minions took their chance to attack in the moment the badger was distracted, leaping onto its back and climbing up its tangled fur. The creature didn't even seem to notice the Minions swarming on its back and preferred to eat the Red it had just killed. It only starded to growl and swipe at the attacking Minions again when it reached the Red's fuel reserves, which made the corpse become wreathed in flames.  
“Sire, normal attacks don't affect this overgrown bauson!”  
“I see it myself,” Orell shouted back, feverishly thinking of a way to deal with the mutated badger. It neither reacted to the fire nor was it responsive to the claws and weapons the Minions tried to sink into its back. With the Red having become inedible to it and the rest of the Minions being alerted enough to stay away from it, the badger was lunging here and there without success.   
Focussing on one of the Greens still on its back, Orell mentally commanded him to attack the eyes. The Green complied, but the amount of eyes the badger had made the attempt stay nothing more than an attempt. It roared and threw its head to the side, dislodging the Green and making it fly into the underbrush and out of sight. Then it stomped its claws onto the ground again and chased after the Minions with even more ferocity, this time successfully catching a Brown.  
Orell wanted to use the moments of distraction to its fullest and gave a mental command to the wolf riders to attack the badger's backside, as it looked to be the least well-defended part. Swords slashed, spears stabbed, teeth buried into fur, but none of these the badger cared enough about to react to. Until Canis himself joined and had Ferin bite into the beast's tail.  
The badger spun around, it's half-eaten prey still hanging between its teeth. The sudden movement made Ferin fall and throw Canis off his back. And while the wolf quickly got away, Canis was dazed from the fall and had the badger's full attention. The creature dropped the mangled corpse it was holding and opened its jaws to grab itself its next meal...  
...but suddenly screeched in pain when a spray of acid hit it in the eye on the lower jaw. Tentacles wrapped around Canis' ankle and pulled him away from the badger before it recovered from the attack. Yet still, Canis glared at Sap, who was smirking atop the tentacled creature that had just saved him. Said creature let go once Ferin barged in, snapping at its tentacles.  
Orell didn't pay attention to what was happening between the two, as he took the chance when the badger was partially blinded by the acid. The spider riders were commanded to try to snare the beast's legs, while Reds aimed their fireballs at the eyes. Orell himself joined the fight as well, hacking at the writhing mass of nose tentacles. It seemed to be successful, as the sounds of the badger started to be more those of pain rather than annoyance. It actually started to back away.  
At least, driving the badger away would be enough, if they weren't able to kill it. A mental command to make the Browns cluster around the head and the creature would likely get the message.  
But then, the badger snorted, the bloodied tentacles split and suddenly, Orell was surrounded by teeth.   
The badger's bite was strong. It immobilized his sword arm completely and he could hear the armour creak in protest. Some of the teeth were entering the armour's crevices and all Orell could see in the faint glowing insides of the badger were more teeth, lining its throat all the way down.   
Having some mobility left in his hand, he grabbed a handful of gum and dug his fingers into it. But rather than spitting him out, the badger gave him a good shake and suddenly Orell was a good deal deeper down the throat. Gnarl was shouting something, but the thick saliva running into the helmet rendered his words unintelligible.  
He tried to push against the softer parts of the throat and to maneuver himself into a position that would make him impossible to swallow, but the mass of teeth prevented him from moving anywhere else other than deeper down the throat and his sword was now somewhere, but not in his hand.  
Orell now really wished to have chosen fire rather than shadow back then.  
All of a sudden, the flesh around him started to vibrate, the pressure was released and several hands grabbed him around the ankles. A twist, a pull, and Orell was greeted by the sight of of the forest's bioluminescence, surrounded by the worried faces of several Minions. Behind them, the badger raged, its mouth being forced open by Canis' spear which had been rammed up its palate. But the real reason for his rage was the pitch-black Minion holding onto its head. Against the badger's thrashing, Jet climbed through the nose tentacles, grabbed the spear stuck in its mouth and the blueish bioluminescence was shortly overshadowed by an oily orange when a barrage of fire streamed from her mouth down the mutant's gaping throat. Jet let herself fall off the badger's head and watched as it stumbled around, shaken by its short, hacking breaths, then collapsed to the ground. Canis didn't bother with waiting for it to die before he yanked his slightly singed spear out of the creature's mouth.  
Orell stared in disbelief at the scene, while the badger's saliva dripped out of his helmet. He knew that Reds were able to throw their oily fluid in the form of fireballs, but he had never seen them ejecting the fuel as a stream of fire.  
“Good to see you having made it out alive, Sire,” Gnarl said once the helmet was dry enough. “One of our previous Overlords had his reign cut short by being eaten by a giant weasel, having another Master be devoured by an oversized mustelid would have just added insult to injury.”  
“Thank you for your concern, Gnarl,” Orell said sarcastically.  
“What I want to say, of course, is that this thing has its burrow very close by. I did hear that badgers are quite the social bunch and it would be best advised to give it a wide berth.”  
“Understood. Send Grubby with a Gate and make him look where he's digging, I don't want these things in the Tower much less than I want them here.”  
“But Master, you are closer to the paladins than ever before, not only will an attack right now be for the best, but the arrival of the Gate might alert them.”  
“Gnarl, the armour is damaged and I am covered in spit from head to toe! Do you want me to slip in the fight and fall right into a waiting sword?”  
“All too true. Grime!”  
  
Home again.  
While this had been a very exciting day, there was nothing better than the brimstone-laden air, the sound of water and lava both rushing town towards the centre of the world and the chitchat of Minions being heard in the background. After a day full of trekking through the forest and the crowning finale of a big fight, there was nothing better than to return to a place of familiarity and calmness.  
After having taken care of his equipment, eaten together with the others and having a look for parasites by Mortis, Snubbly the Brown Minion was walking back to his hut. He was already grinning with anticipation as that was the place he expected to meet Cribble. Cribble had been quite huffy and agitated after having been told off by the Master and not being allowed in the horde any more. Snubbly had fun with telling his hutmate about all the fun he was having outside while Cribble quietly seethed, particularly because him and the others leaving the horde resulted in Snubbly finally securing a place in it. The other Minions had started to pick on him, too, with Cribble having responded with violence more and more often, which just encouraged the others. Because of that, it didn't surprise Snubbly that Cribble was nowhere to be seen during dinnertime. By now, it was late and most Minions had returned to their own dwellings.  
Pass three huts, over the hanging bridge, and behind Clobber's hut to the right. There Snubbly's and Cribble's hut was standing. It wasn't the most impressive one, not the largest or the one with the most trophies, but it was still theirs. Snubbly pushed the roughly woven and crudely stitched rags that served as a door aside and entered the dim twilight inside. As expected, Cribble was there, sitting in a corner with his back facing the door.  
“Hello, Cribble!” Snubbly called out. “Couching cockroaches again?”  
He carelessly flung his rusty dagger and the mushroom cap he was wearing as a hat into a corner, to fully focus on his hutmate and friend. “Guess what we fought today, giant badger! Ate Clash and Flinter, and almost ate the Master, but then Jet roasted it! Could still taste the soot in dinner.”  
Cribble gave a drawn-out, creaking breath in reply.  
“Cribble?” Snubbly tilted his head, his ears askew. He would have expected a bitter remark or at least a growl, but that sound? He reminded of the sounds Giblet's giant bellow made when it broke once, but not of Cribble.  
As his hutmate didn't reply, Snubbly tentatively stepped forwards. “You okay?”  
Now, Cribble slowly rose and turned around. Snubbly felt as if the temperature fell several degrees when he saw Cribble's eyes, which were unfocused, had grotesquely widened pupils and were glazed over by a milky layer.  
“Need to visit Mortis...”  
Cribble creaked again, drooling in streams and his claws flexing as if he saw nothing else than a rat to kill and roast over a lava pool. Only now Snubbly saw the large, blue-coloured and weakly-pulsating lumps underneath the skin of his former hutmate. 


	16. Step back, step forwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeeeell, big chapter with not much going on. This time, Orell chases after paladins, encounters the murdergnome again, questions his own motivations and meets elven village #2, trails a bunch of Sarul-Ras back to that treehouse village he had already visited, leaves a mess on the carpet there and acts a bit more evil than usual, much to Gnarl's delight. Meanwhile, fungus party in the Barracks and the Aurenthurian subplot thickens.  
> Haeren? Still rowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and critique are always nice, they help me to improve and make me a more motivated writer.

Augustinus wished they could have stayed longer at the outpost.   
Sunny Logs was a nice outpost. Situated close to the Infected Forest's border, it was easy to reach, well-appointed and big. But the paladins had not been able to stay there for more than a few days and now they were on the move even further inwards, into the areas that were swarming with the monstrosities this repulsive forest spat out.   
He blamed Johann entirely for what had happened, as he was the one who suggested to go out for a joyride and fight the evil of the forest to spend the time in more productive ways than waiting. The forest had been full of evil and crawling with twisted creatures to slay. They had gone deep and cleansed many, from small terrible bugs to large tentacled monstrosities.  
Until they had run into those vicious little beasts and the ironclad figure leading them.  
Paladin Commander Vaeler had been furious. Furious for what Johann did and furious for what they had discovered. Augustinus could remember that interrogation-like report as if it had happened just five minutes ago...  
  
Augustinus waited, his head hung in shame, for Daren Vaeler to regain his breath. The paladin commander's righteous rage had made him short of breath, and while he wheezed, Augustinus used the time to sort his thoughts.  
“And now, tell me what happened after Johann left his comrades to the beasts and fled.”  
“He covered Enel and Sigismund,” Augustinus explained. This wasn't true, as Johann was the one who ran first, while Enel and Sigismund were holding the demons off. “As soon as the survivors reached the root crawler, he immediately set way to Sunny Logs.”  
The expression of cold rage reappeared on Vaeler's face. “Leading the monsters directly to it?”  
“No, Johann was aware that could happen, so he wove through the forest. With the speed this wretched place regenerates, even expert trackers wouldn't be able to to follow the trail, not in the days we had spent out-”  
“Come to the point!”  
“We were placing false trails for two days, until we had a run-in with something I believe was a monstrous badger, honourable Commander. The root crawler broke with its leg through one of the tunnels and the beast immediately jumped out, destroying the machine. Johann fell to the beast and was eaten.”  
Next to Daren Vaeler, who still scowled, one of the lower-ranked paladin's eyes widened in shock, but he quickly caught himself.   
“And the machine's wreck you have left behind to be found and bring them on our track.”  
Augustinus paused before answering, preparing the right words. “We had no choice, honourable Commander. We were unable to vanquish the monster. But you must consider that all traces left look like everyone of us was killed, provided the monster doesn't eat anyone who examines the traces.”  
Vaeler scowled slightly less upon hearing this. In fact, his mouth corners went up and his expression changed into a grimace that could only be called a parody of a grin. Augustinus tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but he couldn't.   
“Do you really think that it was so easy? Do you even know  _what you have encountered_ ?”  
Augustinus nervously looked around. "A... a fungal monster. One of these horrible corpses of those that died in the forest and came back as unholy abominations. And... a horde of mutated monkeys, I guess.”  
“What you encountered,  _rookie_ , was not a corpse, or mutated wildlife. If you hadn't slept through the history lessons, maybe you would have been able to tell what an armoured man leading a horde of bloodthirsty little beasts actually means.”  
Several pairs of eyes widened and Augustinus went pale once the meaning of Vaeler's words actually sank in. “No, he won't just give up because he found a few remains. He will continue searching until he found where those remains initially came from.”  
“But what if we join forces and kill him once and for all?” Niel chimed in. We could easily overpower his demons and he himself won't stand long to our swords and powers.” Several others voiced their approval.  
“Because we are here with a mission,” Vaeler quickly overshouted the voices. “And we will continue with our mission, without diversions. Because once we are done, the forest can burn together with the demon lord in it. But for now, pack your supplies and prepare to break camp. We will move to Arith-Nar and continue with our mission from there, undisturbed. As for the demon lord himself...” he took a few heavy breaths, then his grin grew again. “We have the right warrior to deal with him among us.”  
  
Afterwards, Daren Vaeler had sent several messengers, some to inform the Aurenthurian government that the demon lord had returned, others to inform Count Doran's troops which they were supposed to initially meet at the Sunny Logs outpost.   
They were quickly on their way again, and progressed barely slower than they would be on the fields of Alsemark, all thanks to the root crawlers the dwarves provided. The steam-powered brazen machines had no problem moving over the forest's rough terrain and the spinning saws on the tips of movable arms removed any vegetation in their way quickly and effortlessly, while the noise scared the forest's monstrosities away.   
Augustinus still wished they could have taken their horses into the forests. Or that at least the machines had been modelled in the image of a noble horse rather than a disgusting spider, but dwarves were not known for their sense of elegance. The design was straightforward with a solid footing and enough space to carry cargo, as well as several utilities that could be easily added and removed, depending on use.   
At least, Arith-Nar would be reached quickly. And after the troops arrived, they would be able to fulfill their mission. Augustinus wasn't sure what Daren Vaeler had planned to deal with the demon lord, but he had faith in his commander. Surely, they would never seen that armoured menace and his monsters again.  
  
After having gotten ready  for the day, Orell's first stop was the Forge. Barely after the portal's light  had faded, Gnarl didn't stop badgering him about the new smelter, just like the days before. What was different this time was that he had an actual reason to visit it in the form of the armour he had brought to Giblet to repair and was going to retrieve now.  
Not only Giblet, but Gnarl and Ingrid as well were waiting for him.  
“Ah, so you finally decided to pay our lonely Smelter a visit, Sire.” Before Orell could say anything, Ingrid was having the same sentiments.   
“Yes, it's better if some of your armour's pieces are replaced. Giblet might have hammered out the dents, but the metal is weakened in those places.”  
“Which parts exactly?” Orell asked after Giblet brought the armour.  
“The right gauntlet, right pauldron, both greaves and the chainmail needs some rings replaced, too. But the gauntlet has it the worst.”  
“Hmm,” Gnarl said, “It would be best to spruce it up with magic a bit, Sire. Then you wouldn't have to have it fixed every two hours and Giblet won't whine my ears off.”  
“How long would it take?”  
“One to two days. Maybe less if Giblet's apprentices are skilled enough to have them work on armour pieces alone,” Ingrid answered.  
“I meant the magical enhancement.”  
Now, Gnarl was the one to answer. “Don't worry, Sire, that takes barely a few minutes, the time to gather the Minions included.”  
Orell cast a side glance at his advisor. “Gather the Minions, for what?”  
“To sacrifice them, of course. Nothing will get the metal singing with magic like a good number of Minions mixed into the melt. Each colour has its unique effects, and since we are aiming for durability, we will...” Gnarl's words slowly faded away and came to a halt when he saw both his master as well as the Forge's mistress stare at him in bewilderment and horror.  
Their staring continued for several more seconds through the silence, until both started to spill their thoughts about it at the same time, shouting so loud they drowned out the other sounds of the Forge.  
“By Wutin, who would put that into molten metal...”  
“...nice and all, but I won't waste my Minions on...”  
“...contains sulfur, the metal would become brittle, and...”  
“...much more valuable fighting for me rather than strengthening metal...”  
“...soiling the metal with dead bodies is disgusting!”  
“...it's an utter waste of valuable fighters!”  
Once Gnarl was sure there was no more shouting being added, he let his ears unfurl again. “I can understand your objections, but this is how the Smelter works. The metal has to be imbued with lifeforce and I can guarantee you that many Overlords had armour created this way and the metal was no more faulty than that of ordinary armour.”  
“But what if you would put the lifeforce into the metal without a body attached to it?” Ingrid mused. “Think of it, maybe the remains still make the metal brittle and not having them in it would make the result even better.”  
Gnarl gave Ingrid a look as if she just had suggested him to clean the latrines with his own cloak, then turned to Orell.  
“She has a point there,” his master replied before he could say anything. “I'm losing enough Minions in the Infected Forest as it is, and if it's true that using pure lifeforce rather than Minions will improve the armour's quality...”  
Gnarl sighed. “But Sire, you will still have to consider that there is no way of, you know, transporting the lifeforce properly. It has to be bound into a body or it will dissipate, and dissipated lifeforce serves no-one.”  
“Why shouldn't we find a way to store it in another form? If the lifeforce can be stored in the metal to power its magic, there must be a way to contain it in a less-specific manner.”  
Gnarl wanted first to protest, but then he faltered and scratched his chin. “Hmm, you might be right, Master. Storing lifeforce and releasing it when needed could be used in many different ways, not just for forging. Damn, if we had the Blues, they could be put to use with their affinity to magic... maybe I should ask Mortis to spare some of his time.”  
“I will ask him myself,” Orell said. “There is some business I have to do in the Barracks before I go out, it won't be a big detour.”  
  
With the last few instructions to the two forgers done, Orell took the floating boulder to the Barracks. While asking Mortis about lifeforce was a very recent decision, the original reason to go there was the stream of fire roasting the mutant badger from the inside out he had seen yesterday. He needed to talk to Jet about it.  
The boulder flew a gentle curve and slowed down until it came to a halt next to the ledge where one of the many tunnels of the Barracks opened into the abyss. Orell jumped off the swaying rock and nearly stumbled from having solid ground under his feet again. Time to go through the confusing labyrinth bustling with Minion activity again...  
...except there was no activity to be seen.  
Bewildered, Orell looked around. Usually, there were always Minions around attending their business, and their numbers had been increasing steadily every time he visited the Barracks, but now the caves were eerie with their absence.   
Maybe they had gathered deeper in the caves for some reason, but Orell doubted it. Something  _wrong_ hung in the air, like the traces of miasma in a village where everyone had fallen victim to the plague.  
Just as he wanted to go deeper to investigate, Orell noticed movement from the corner of his eye. A lone Green dragged something over the ground, which Orell soon recognized as a corpse of a Brown – and it was like the Infected Forest had come to the Netherworld.  
The once-brown skin had grown pale and was enwrought with bright-blue veins, which concentrated around hideous lumps. The Green dropped the corpse to the ground near the ledge, then gave it a push to let it fall into the abyss. Orell caught a glimpse of the large wound on the Brown's chest and neck, inflicted by a dull blade.  
“What happened?” he asked the Green.  
The startled Minion spun around and stared at Orell for a few seconds with wide eyes, before both his gaze and ears lowered.  
“Blue mold,” he finally replied. “Outbreak in the Barracks, need to remove the infected.”  
“What...” Now it was Orell's turn to stare at the Green with a mortified expression. “How did... where are... why has  _nobody told me_ ?”  
The Green cowered even more at those words, attempting to look as non-threatening and submissive as possible. “Wellsy said, could be danger to spread mold to Tower.”  
“Bring me to Wellsy.”  
“Master, me can't-”  
“ _Now_ .”  
The near-panicking Green did as he was told. As they moved through the tunnels and caverns, he could see they were similarly desolate as the outer areas, with scattered tools and suspicious bloodstains giving hints to what  had  happened. The only living Minions he saw were a few other Greens, who were dragging corpses to be disposed in the abyss. A lot of them had the same blue veins and lumps as the first corpse, but a frightening amount bore the marks of a brutal mauling instead.   
Thousands of thoughts flowed through Orell's head. From what he saw, it appeared like the blue mold had infected the Minions and made them attack the uninfected. The vast majority of those bearing the marks of infection were Browns, with only the occasional Red among them. The only Greens he saw were the ones mauled to death, and the ones transporting the corpses, apparently immune to the mold's effects... unlike him.  
Too late, Orell realized that this might be the way he would end up as well, a mutated, mutilated corpse to be disposed  of  into the depths of the abyss. His step faltered for a moment, but then he followed the Green with the same speed as before, once he pulled his collar over his nose as a  im provis at ory breathing protection.  
Mortis would have to take care of any possible infections later.  
Curiously, that was exactly the direction the Green was leading him to, judging by the amount of rivulets crossing the tunnel's ground and the sound of the underground river ahead. Orell was relieved to see more Minions on the way, looking upset but their faces lighting up once they saw him.  
There were more Minions in the cavern with the river, mostly keeping to the walls and generously avoiding the Greens dragging corpses through the hall. Another place avoided by the Minions was a certain dell close to the river's shore, where the Green and Orell were heading to.  
Both Mortis and Wellsy were present there, squatting in front of a large, flat slab of Netherworld rock. What was lying on the slab made Orell nearly throw up.  
It was one of the infected Minions, his body split open from throat to crotch. Half the internal organs were pulled out and lying next to the body, and both of Mortis' hands were elbow-deep in the cut bring more to light.  
“The same. All full of hyphae,” Wellsy commented.  
“Not quite. The liver seems to have the highest density of them,” Mortis replied, then placed the organ next to the body and began to cut it apart with a small blade. “And they are different from the hyphae that were in the lungs.”  
“Need to look at infection of nervous system. See how far it has spread.”  
“I will need a saw for the skull and vertebrae. Greetings, Master,” Mortis said without looking up from his work, his hands in side the corpse again.  
It took Orell a few moments before he replied, to get his nausea under control.  
“I need to talk about... all of this. What happened, when did it happen, and most importantly,  _why was I not informed_ ?”  
While the question was directed at Wellsy, it was Mortis who answered. “It was for the safety of all. Having anyone go to the Tower might have gotten the disease there and infected even more. We needed to contain it until we had it identified and under control. As for what happened, Wellsy called it the 'blue mold'.”  
“Fungus infection that makes the infected go crazy and mad,” Wellsy picked up. “Then kills and fruiting bodies grow from it. Minions infected themselves on the big lizard carcass in the forest.”  
“And you knew all of it? Wellsy, you could have  _prevented this outbreak_ !” Orell glared at the Green horde leader.  
Wellsy's ears sank. “Not expected it would infect Minions. We never got the disease.”  
“Speaking of disease, what if I would have gotten infected by it, did you think about that?”  
“No worries, Master. Only seen it infect lizards, turtles and other things with scales. Furry things nest in carcasses and feed on maggots in it, never catching the mold.”  
Orell made a face at Wellsy lumping him into the same category as 'furry things', but at the same time he was relieved he would be spared from the fate that had befallen the Minions.  
“And knowing this, you  _still_ said nothing. So many Minions could have still been alive at this very moment if you did not have omitted this little piece of information. Have you counted the victims?”  
While Wellsy lowered his ears even more and was lowering his head as well, Mortis spoke up. “About ten infected, with thirty-seven killed before they were taken down. They raged through the Barracks, scratching and biting many more, mostly the young and  i nexperienced. Wellsy said the bites are infectious, but doesn't know to which degree.”  
“Oh,  _great_ .” Orell rubbed his temples. “Can you set up a quarantine?”  
“We can. Good, Shrub,” Mortis said when one of the Greens handed him a saw.  
As Mortis didn't continue speaking while he rolled the corpse over and Wellsy still appeared like he was trying to vanish into the ground he was sitting on, Orell continued.  
“I want to have every Minion that was bitten, otherwise injured by the infected as well as those that came into any kind of contact with them or their discharge rounded up and either locked up or tied up, out of the reach of other Minions. Put them here, or since they are not affected by the mold, in the area the Greens use and keep them under surveillance. Treat them if possible and kill them when the infection breaks out. I also want the bloodstains and other residues cleaned up and anything that could be contaminated burned. And let the Reds burn the stained ground as well.”   
“Anything else you wish to implement, master?” Mortis asked without looking up from sawing into the skull of the infected corpse.  
“Not for now. How many Minions will not be affected by the quarantine?”  
“Enough. The majority of Browns was far enough from the outbreak and the Reds immediately went to bathe in fire to burn off any spores.”  
“Good. You know where you can find me.” Orell suddenly was in a hurry to leave the place. He turned around just in time to not see Mortis split the skull open and examine its contents.  
  
When he was back at the Tower, he could already see some of the Barrack's huts close to the ledge go up in flames. He was glad to be away from the gravely atmosphere that had gotten a hold of that place, the mangled corpses and the scared Minions.  
But now, he had a whole different problem.  
“Ah, Sire, I had expected you to return a little earlier, what did Mortis say about-”  
“Don't come closer!”  
Gnarl stopped mid-track and raised his ears. “Sire?”  
“There has been a deadly disease outbreak in the Barracks, brought in from the Infected Forest. I don't want it to spread to the Minions in the Tower.”  
“Eugh, disgusting! I did say to let the forest be burned by the paladins.”  
“Can you bring me some spare clothes?”  
“Of course, Sire. Grime, get what the Master has asked for!”  
  
Despite the outbreak of the blue mold, Orell and a number of Minions returned to the source of the infection soon after. After another embarrassing time of undressing in front of Minions and throwing his old clothes into the abyss, he went to the Private Quarters to take a thorough bath, after which he changed into a third set of clothes and told Scruffy to cook the second set in which he arrived.   
Despite the damages on his armour and the losses to the blue mold among the Minions, Orell felt ready to take on the paladins. Using the same exploit he had used when taking over Nordberg, there were now sixty-two Minions trailing him, six under the command of Canis, the Brown horde leader Havoc, Jet, Igniot, Talon and Sinomi each. Wellsy, whom Orell still largely blamed for the blue mold outbreak in the Barracks, was not given his own set of Greens to lead by himself.  
The way to the paladin encampment was easily sniffed out by Ferin and the other wolves and since it led over relatively even terrain, they could reach it quickly. The giggling horde anticipating a fight was decked out in the best armours and weapons the Netherworld had to offer, the shield carriers had taken a few more lessons from Chasm and bore middle-sized, studded shields now and two of the rare salamanders had joined the Reds.   
Orell was as prepared as he could get to fight th e paladins in the encampment and he was pretty sure that with proper planning, a victory was guaranteed.  
The paladin outpost was empty.  
First, Orell couldn't believe what the Greens sent ahead to scout the encampment out were telling him, but seeing the vacant clearing with his own eyes undoubtedly showed that all those preparations were in vain.  
“Looks like your reputation goes ahead of you, Sire, striking fear into the hearts of your enemies,” he heard Gnarl say. “Or maybe their rations got moldy.”  
“Damn it,” Orell replied. Why had the paladins moved away? The way the group of bunny-slaughterers had acted did suggest they would have stayed there for some time and it was unlikely that the group not returning would have driven the rest away from the outpost. Paladins didn't act that way. They would have sent out sea r ch parties, found the machine's remains, held an obituary for the dead and then killed anything suspicious in the vicinity, but they would have not given the outpost up. Something else must have happened that made them move on.  
On the other hand, an outpost worth of paladins and their supplies couldn't have gone far, and attacking them on the roads would be much easier than it would have been in the encampment.  
Looking around, he could see the place had been recently and quickly abandoned. The trampled ground was nearly devoid of plants and a number of smaller objects like mugs or pieces of cloth were left behind, but nothing big or important. Some smaller trees and tangles were chopped down, probably the unfinished attempt to void a generous area around the actual outpost to prevent any ambushes.  
The direction the paladins went was easy to find. While the tracks in the middle went one over another, the outskirts showed a clear direction towards a paved road. They did make it too easy.  
Orell led his Minions with a brisk pace, determined to catch up with the paladins as soon as possible. He thought about getting the horse currently stationed in Nordberg into the forest to increase his speed further, but the screeching sound of a spectre predator reminded him why this would not be a good idea. It was not a warhorse trained not to spook from loud and odd sounds.   
Although, none of the Minions' mounts reacted significantly to the screeching. The wolves looked into the direction of the sound, one of the two salamanders jumped a little and hissed and neither the spiders nor the mutant creature showed any response. Orell felt like taming one of the larger tentacled creatures himself, as it would be able to carry him through the uneven, dense forest, put up quite a fight during an attack and might even prevent a lot of fights outside the forest by simply scaring weak-willed men and beasts away. Sap would surely know how to tame and train such a creature for him.  
His trail of thoughts was interrupted by a Minion bringing him a bag filled with gold coins.   
“For you!” he said, but as soon as Orell touched the bag to examine it, it disintegrated and vanished with a swirl around his left gauntlet.  
“Ah, wonderful, it is always nice to find some conveniently-forgotten riches in the most strange of places,” Gnarl said before Orell could ask him where the bag went. Seemingly, it was a kind of magical transportation, like it was used for lifeforce.  
“But next to the road? It surprises me the paladins didn't pick it up, they are better at finding it than sows are at finding truffles.”  
Meanwhile, more Minions were finding more gold in the undergrowth off the road, mostly in the form of loose coins, but now and then another bag was brought. Enthusiastically, the Minions ran into the underbrush again and again, to extract more of the shiny coins.  
“Maybe a harpy found some forgotten treasure in one of the elven ruins nearby,” Gnarl mused, “and lost some of the load just after the pal-”  
Splintering sounds, a loud snap and a sharp cry interrupted the advisor.  
Orell sent the mental command to the Minions to drop whatever they were doing and return, before he went after the source of the sound himself.  
The origin was quickly found. Barely visible in the gloom and concealed by the foliage, a simple yet effective trap had been waiting for unsuspecting prey. It was a construction made of rope and wood, consisting of a springloaded living branch with a sharpened stake tied to it, which was now driven through a Brown's chest, nailing him to a nearby trunk. The Brown's hand was still outstretched towards a bag of gold lying on the ground next to the trap.  
“Horse shit in a kettle,” Orell hissed. Then he heard a thin voice chittering something in Gnomish high above, followed by a high-pitched laugh, and swore again, more ribald this time.  
Wellsy ran up to him and said: “Need to check for more traps around, Master. Can disable them.”  
"Do it,” Orell replied sharper than he intended, while thinking of how to get rid of this trapmaking little pest. While one of the spiders would have caught up with the gnome easily, he was pretty sure the branches were rigged just like the ground and would cost him only more Minions.  
Several loud snaps echoed through the forest when Wellsy cut the ropes of more hidden traps, their stakes harmlessly embedding themselves in mossy wood. With this done, he went to the impaled Brown and cut the stake off the branch, the corpse sliding to the ground. Then, he suddenly jolted up and hissed, when the Brown let out a stertorous breath.  
“Still alive? Gnarl, send a Gate!”  
“But Master, that's just-”  
“That is an order!”  
It was relieving to hear the characteristic rumbling of an arriving Gate barely a minute later. Two small Browns left it and carried the impaled, but still living Minion back into the Barracks, where Mortis would take care of him.  
“I still can't believe how you allow your quarry to gain distance to save the life of one expendable Minion. Not criticising your methods of overlording of course, Sire.”  
“This was one of the more experienced ones. Right now, I can't allow me  _any_ deaths that can be prevented, not with the paladins and their dwarven machines breathing down my neck, and not with the mess that happened in the Barracks.”   
“Then I would suggest to leave the forest as soon as possible and take up the search for the Blues.”  
Orell didn' t say anything in return, as he was tired of telling Gnarl he didn't want the Infected Forest to fall victim to the flames for various reasons. But the old advisor did have a point with the Blue Minions. Their skills at healing and even reviving the dead would make his life a lot easier. The only problem was that he didn't know where to look for them.   
Since the traps had been disabled by Wellsy, Orell allowed the Minions to collect the remaining bags and coins, which they cautiously did, then continued to follow the road, after the paladins.  
What was he doing? While he had told Gnarl his reason for returning the Brown to the Netherworld was the shortage of Minions, this was not the real reason.   
The real reason was that he simply didn't want this Brown to die. It was banal and it was stupid. Minions died all the time, they had died in his previous endeavours, they would die in his future ones. They have died long before he escaped the dungeons with their help and they have died long before he was even born. They would die in the fight against the paladins he was leading them to. And yet there he was, wasting his time to save a single Minion, who might be a bit less lucky tomorrow.  
Orell frowned in the privacy of his helmet. The Minions were a means to an end, a tool to crush the Aurenthurian government and to turn it into something actually functional rather than the inefficient clown show it had become during the years. But the longer his journey towards this goal took, the less Aurenthuria mattered to him and the more he was caring for those 'means to an end'.   
He needed to pull himself together. What if, when he had to decide what to with the Aurenthurian empire, he would turn his back to the people and side with the Minions? This was something he shouldn't allow to happen.  
  
Slowly but surely, Troll's Maw came into sight. It was not a big harbour and lacked most what made out a proper settlement, but it was mostly built as an outpost for the paladins and eradicators and it served its purpose well. A significant part of it consisted of sturdy piers for the ships where most of the life in Troll's Maw took place. The rest was mostly run-down huts to store the equipment, or the dark artefacts before they could be destroyed or shipped off to be given over to the sunless depths of the ocean. Only the two-storied home of the governor and the large barracks for those stationed longer stood out.  
Currently, three larger ships were docked there among the small boats. Two of them appeared to be cogs; one of them looked like freshly launched, lacking any blemishes and with the wood still having a fair colour, the other one was a run-down bucket that was barely staying afloat. The third ship was a sleek balinger, a sparrow hawk among two geese. Men were working on deck, loading supplies onto it.   
If Haeren would board the ship and convince the captain to head to the Golden City if the original cou r se wouldn't take it there already, he would arrive there in barely two weeks. No more rowing, no more fish, no more sleeping in a provisional shelter. He would be able to sleep in a soft, warm bed and eat all the mutton he wanted. The parliament would reward him for his deeds and he would be reinstated as the governor of Nordberg once the foul demon lord had been crushed by the Aurenthurian army.  
Slowly but surely, Troll's Maw vanished from sight.  
Haeren's dreams hadn't ceased. On the contrary, the pictures and the voices had become more and more clear, begging, seducing,  _inviting_ . Now he was hearing them while waking as well, when the rowing numbed his mind and made his thoughts drift away. Among the shrieking bleats, the writhing wool, the pulsating horns and the being behind the whirling void, his own thoughts of beds, mutton and rewards had dwindled, replaced by the single desire to reach behind the void and fulfil the bidding of the voice.   
Haeren's dreams guided the way. They guided him further south, away from Troll's Maw, away from any hope to return to his former life.  
  
Like the first time they had encountered the gnome, the little pest was nowhere to be seen. The Minions were still tense, reacting to any strange sounds in the foliage around them, but they soon calmed down. The walk was uneventful; no more traps laid out for the Minions were encountered, plants and creatures avoided the road and the paladin trail didn't leave it.  
This soon changed.  
Orell noticed that the road they were walking on was in a state of disrepair and it got only worse with every metre. First it was only the odd cobblestone missing, but soon it turned into a mosaic of stone and barely-overgrown mud, until it was only mud. Ferin and the other wolves didn't lose track and the prints in the mud made the direction the paladins took all the more visible. But with the end of the cobblestones their influence ended as well, and soon Orell found himself walking on earth reclaimed by the fast-growing local flora. Now, only the wolves were able to tell where the group of paladins had gone.  
This worked fine until a wide aisle created by one of the larger creatures of the Infected Forest crossed the trail and any trace of the paladins was lost. Orell allowed the horde to rest, while the wolf riders were tasked with finding the correct direction, but all their search was in vain. It was as if the creature that crossed paths had devoured the paladins without leaving anything behind.  
Orell pinched his nose bridge in frustration and put his helmet back on just in time to hear Gnarl speaking.  
“-blister-dicked buggers, but I wouldn't count on that. What most likely happened is that the paladins went to the right and the giant worm chose the exact same path, destroying any tracks. If you keep the wolves at the rims of that aisle, they will pick up the scent of canned food sooner or later, Sire.”  
Traversing the creature's aisle was harder than even moving through the untouched forest; while there were no trunks or branches in the way, everything that would have been in the way was now pressed into the ground and generously mixed with mud, creating a ground that was very treacherous to walk on. After nearly tripping for the third time, Orell decided it was for the best to traverse the intact forest next to the aisle. The horde split up, one half led by Orell and the other half by Canis.  
The track of the enormous creature that had pushed itself through the undergrowth seemed to have no end. Orell and the Minions followed it for hours, without any change in the situation. Similar to the cobblestone roads, the aisle was avoided by the creatures of the Infected Forest, but for much more evident reasons this time. The Minions, aware of the low degree of danger, let themselves go. Orell had to put an end to their merriness when they started to pluck the glowing pillbugs off the branches and throw the rolled-up animals at each other.  
They were starting to grow loud again when they were silenced a second time, this time a wolf's barking coming from the other side of the aisle.   
As Orell changed sides to investigate, he was disappointed. The wolf riders had found the continuation of the cobblestone road, but one of them told that they couldn't pick up the scent of the paladin group. Not wanting to waste his time, he was about to go on and continue following the aisle, when one of the wolves started to growl and stare into the direction of the cobblestone road, with the others joining it soon.   
Alerted, Orell drew his sword and all around him the Minions followed suit.  
“Oh, no no no! Relax, I don't mean any harm.”  
Orell stared at the figure appearing on the cobblestone road from the undergrowth for several seconds, before he sheathed his sword again and a mental command made Minions lower their weapons as well.  
“And you are...?”  
The elderly elf looked at the assortment of Minions with watery, constantly blinking eyes. He reminded Orell of Laendel, the leader of the elven village he had visited before, but there the similarities ended. Where Laendel had been a haggard individual surrounded by a serious and dignified aura, this individual's appearance could be easily summed up as 'happy raisin'. He was small, had round features and lacked any hair, which made his already large ears appear even bigger.  
“My name is Niremar. And you lot surely have a long way behind you. Come, come, our village is close. You are welcome to stay there for a while,” the elder said, while he already had turned around and was waving a gesture to follow him.  
Orell gave the elf a bewildered look. Very few people had reacted that friendly so far, and he surely didn't expect this level of friendliness in such a place as the Infected Forest.  
“Master, there is something more than fishy around this elf, if you ask me. And it's not the smell of the Greens.”  
“I can tell this myself,” Orell whispered back. “But maybe he can give me a clue or two.”  
His suspicions started to wane once he saw the village the elder came from was barely twenty metres away, completely hidden in the foliage. It was significantly smaller than the one Laendel was leading and lacked the grown walls. Instead, it had a chest-high fence consisting of vines with flowers that emitted an infernal smell. Both Orell and the Minions were choking in the stench and he wasn't surprised that the weak barrier still could keep the forest's creatures at bay, but the elves around didn't seem to be fazed by it at all. The first other dwellers of the village he saw were the two guards which didn't raise their weapons upon seeing him or the Minions.   
Behind the flower fence the village was quite lively, with a lot of different individuals from all kinds of shapes and ages tending to their business, working on dwellings, preparing food or creating art and tools. There were several off-proportioned individuals and in one case Orell believed to have even seen a human among them.  
The elderly elf led Orell and the Minions through a maze of small buildings that were barely more than huts constructed from living and dead wood, hardly any of them looked like more than one person could comfortably live in them. The smell of the fence and the cramped living condition reminded Orell of the Golden City's harbour district in more than one way; only the light seemed to be the major difference, coming from enormous, yellow-glowing mushrooms sprouting from the ground, the caps of many being used as temporary shelters for supplies.  
The dwellings became less packed until they retreated completely to show an open place, which appeared to be the village's centre. Its middle was marked by a piece of white marble masonry overgrown by the roots of a large tree, seemingly the only remain of an Evernight city of old. The few crumbled stones left were probably the reason why this village was integrated into the Infected Forest to a much larger degree than the first one Orell had entered.  
“Here, here, we have all you wish right there,” the elder said, pointing at a number of benches around the tree growing on the wall piece.  
“Can I talk to the one in leading position of this village? A reeve, an elder, a spiritual leader?” Speaking to the leader would yield the best  knowledge about any paladins passing through, as they were most likely informed on what any scouts had seen. And additionally, Orell would be able to get on the good side of the village at the same time.  
“Oh, don't worry, I was just about to get him,” the elder said while already hobbling away.   
Orell looked at the elder vanish among the huts.   
“Seems like the forest just wants you to waste time and let the paladins escape, Sire. I wouldn't put it past it, I would want to be burned alive if I looked like this forest, too”, Gnarl said. “The smell alone would want me to jump into the abyss.”  
“It's not that horrible after some time”, Orell replied. Indeed, while the smell of the vine barrier was unbearable at first, it was much less noticeable after a few minutes. He wondered if it would be noticeable at all once the village's elder showed up.   
Giving the Minions the mental command to keep calm and not harass the curious elves coming closer to look at them, Orell sat down on one of the benches and waited.  
  
Sayael was shaking with rage.  
“What... is... this...?” he pressed out after he had to read the pamphlet a second time because of his trembling hands.  
The young acolyte took a step back. “A pamphlet, revered high priest. Someone distributed them on the brewery district's market.”  
“And you come to me with this now!?”  
“I am sorry, revered high priest.” Another step back. “A concerned citizen has brought it to me just today. A beer market is no place for me, I had no way of receiving this earlier.”  
“I laud your resolution,” Sayael said, slightly less enraged. “Did the citizen tell who was distributing this filth?”  
“Unfortunately, nobody knows. The pamphlets appeared out of nowhere, falling from the skies.”  
“Disgusting,” Sayael grumbled. “You are dismissed, Bertram.”  
While the acolyte took the right route towards the mass hall, Sayael took the left, towards his private quarters. This little repulsive pamphlet would make him seethe for the rest of the day and he felt too indisposed to interact with any church members, let alone the ordinary worshippers. He ripped the pamphlet into tiny ribbons and threw them into the next brazier he passed.  
The claims on this pamphlet were outrageous. It said the Punarim church cooperated with criminals, diverted tithes into bribing and was more concerned with amassing wealth rather than listening to the concerns of the smallfolk. But the most embarrassing part was that a lot of the claims were  _true_ .  
Lies were easy to debunk with truth, but truth would have to be debunked with lies, and when those came to light... Sayael needed to find the source of the pamphlet as soon as possible.   
But who would print such a thing, let alone know so much about the current affairs that were never meant to leave the confines of the Punarim temple's walls? The priests themselves could be ruled out, as Sayael examined every single one of them personally before they were allowed to hold a job in the church. The guards, cleaning personnel and other employees of the church not tasked with spiritual work were more likely, but those were always kept away from any important talks and it was not in their interest to spread around the things they heard.   
Sayael assumed the source of this information was someone from the outside of the church, someone pretending to be a pious worshipper who entered the churches and temples not for his duties to Punarim, but to listen to things not meant for their ears and spread them around for personal gain. There was a number of culprits for that and after some thinking, Sayael smirked.  
It must be the halflings. How else would he explain the sudden surge of halflings joining the Punarim church a few weeks ago? The little rabbitmen were small, sneaky and their primary concern had always been food and wealth. If they discredited the Punarim church, they would both attack the church's instruction to avoid gluttony and with no tithes to pay, the populace would be more willing to spend coin on halfling produce.  
But before he could take action, Sayael needed concrete proof, to mark the halflings as the liars and deter anyone else from attempting the same. He called for his cleaner, to tell him to look out for more pamphlets and find out where they came from. He also told that whoever turned up with answers will have his salary doubled, a good incentive for the cleaner to tell this offer to his friends as well.  
  
Waiting didn't take long. Barely a few minutes after the elder disappeared, the village's leader strode into view. He had a pale, timeless face, hair so light-coloured it appeared almost white and was dressed in the kind of garb Orell had seen among the Golden City's Evernightian nobility. He found it strange that this apparently noble elf was running this run-down, tiny hamlet. Evernightian elves put great value into their native place and their family, so most likely it was either built on the forgotten ruin of the city of his ancestors or his relatives lived in the village.  
“I greet you, wanderer. What is your concern?”  
“There is a rather large group of paladins moving through the forest. They must have passed here close-by, I need their direction,” Orell said after mentally telling the Minions to be quiet.  
The elf's eyes narrowed almost indiscern i bly before returning to their usual stony expression. “Laendel had sent out a number of messenger birds to inform the other elven villages around of their current plans, to this village as well, I presume”, Orell continued after the elf had remained silent.  
“You must have overheard something,” the elven leader finally spoke. “We use messenger moths. Less likely to be eaten due to their poison and their ability to track the scent of a female allows them to find their destination even if it moves. But I digress. Yes, there was a band of paladins moving past, quite recently. Something forced them to leave their outpost and the supplies they had to carry weighed them down. Wanderer, why don't you take some time to rest with us? The paladins are moving slow and you look worn out.”  
“What a cretinous coprolith, Evil never rests,” Gnarl commented.  
“Thank you, but I have to decline. I need to reach the paladins as soon as possible, no delays.”  
The elf probably tried to make a saddened expression, but managed to look like he had dropped his spoon under a table instead. ”Not even something to drink? A softer bench, maybe?”  
“I will come back to that offer once my business is done, thanks,” Orell said, ignoring the ever more scathing remarks coming from the Shroud, “but you would really help me if you would point me in the direction the paladins went.”  
The elf pointed in the direction to his left, past the large tree's roots. “This way. You will intercept a trail, follow it in its left direction. You will not miss it.”  
“Thank you,” Orell said and rose from the bench.   
“But wait”, the elf said, “I greatly appreciate your endeavours with helping us and our forest. Please take this as a parting gift.”  
He stretched his hand out to direct attention at two elves carrying a contraption that seemed to consist of bellows and pipes with a purpose Orell couldn't tell.  
“No, Master, no!” Gnarl shouted. “This thing is not going to go to the Netherworld! Decline it, decline it!”  
Orell wanted to turn to the side to be able to talk with Gnarl while not looking like he was soliloqui s ing, when he heard squeals of joy rapidly growing in volume and a new voice joined the advisor.  
“Master, this is a genuine Voice of the Woods! This is  f antastic, my band would love it! Please, most acknowledgeable Overlord, accept it”, Quaver overshouted Gnarl's begging protests.  
“Send a Gate, Gnarl”, Orell said while trying not to roll his eyes. Aside from being rude to the helpful elves, he would rather put up with the instrument in the Throne Room if he accepted rather than Quaver's whining if he declined.  
He heard something that sounded like a mix of a groan and a whimper from the advisor and another elated squeal from Quaver and shortly after a Gate dug itself out of a clear patch. 

As the village leader had predicted, Orell didn't miss the trail. But it took him barely fifty metres to get a strange feeling about it.  
“Master, don't you think that for something enough paladins to fill an Everlightian brothel had stomped through, this trail looks suspiciously... unused?”  
Indeed, the trail was narrow and almost fully covered by moss, with smaller herbs growing between the loose, widely-spaced cobblestones. There were impressions in the moss, but they had to come from someone light and having soft footwear, not from a man in full plate armour.  
“This is very strange,” Orell agreed, slowing down and looking around, “either I missed the trail or the paladins had company.”  
“Or the rabbit-eared rotter lied.”  
Orell groaned. “Yes, Gnarl, I get that you are not terribly fond of elves. But would you explain me why he would be covering those very same paladins that want to burn his home down?”  
“Maybe the messenger moths didn't arrive in time or were eaten by something that died of the poison later. Maybe he actually wants to be rehomed and-”  
”Shh!”  
An all too familiar sound had made Orell shut up his advisor. A sound that started as a whistle, then gradually  c hanged into a shriek.  
_Seliet_ .  
Orell left the trail and mentally commanded his Minions to do the same. The forest was more open in this part, the underbrush less thick and the snaking tree trunks less densely-spaced, with little opportunity to hide. Picking a place next to a thick snaking tree trunk vanishing underneath the earth, Orell told his Minions to stand perfectly still and let them and himself be enveloped by black, vibrating smoke. Then he waited for the danger to pass by.  
The danger was of a somewhat unexpected kind, but it was the kind of threat Yerael had originally told the  _seliet_ call warned of. A group of Sarul-Ras crept through the underbrush, hard to see in their painted bone masks and leaf coats, and absolutely silent. All their eyes were directed at the trail.  
They passed close to the place Orell and the horde were standing, and one of them stopped to sniff the air. He looked around, but all he could see were a group of large, pale mushrooms growing next to a snaking tree trunk. The Sarul-Ras who stopped first gesticulated at the others, who stopped as well and focused on him. Then they began to speak in their own, barking language.  
“Ooh, this is really interesting, Sire. Seems like I was right and that nightgown-wearing weevil did actually want to sell you out to the Sarul-Ras. Right now, they are wondering how they still haven't found you and whether Mikhuril, I think that's what the village's reeve is called, might have lied to them about- it gets funnier and funnier! Those are the same Sarul-Ras tribe you already had a run-in with, they are still seeking you. Haha!”  
Orell was itching to ask Gnarl questions about the Sarul-Ras talk, but that would ruin his illusion.  
The elves talked a bit more, then set off to follow the trail further.   
“Master, I would suggest to discreetly follow them. If we can find out where their settlement is, we can either end their menace to your life at once, or simply get a landmark on the map which we can generously avoid.”  
“This is what I am thinking as well,” Orell replied. However, his plans were neither of Gnarl's suggestions – he planned something completely different.  
He needed to be careful. While the elves were focused on the path they expected to intercept him on, they were very likely paying attention to their surroundings as well. One couldn't survive in the Infected Forest otherwise.   
Maintaining the illusion was impossible. Orell could move and act just fine when using an illusion just on himself, but there were over sixty Minions and their mounts as well accompanying him. The only reasonable way to follow the Sarul-Ras was to send some Greens ahead, while the rest stayed out of the elves' hearing range.  
“Wellsy,” Orell addressed the Green horde leader reluctantly, “I need the names of the present Greens that are best at staying undetected. Preferably those that don't smell too much.”  
Wellsy's ears briefly perked up, but sank back upon hearing the order. “Sai, Vert and Mildew.”  
Orell called the mentioned Greens to his side. All three of them were small and scrawny, very different from the five he was already familiar with.  
“Go ahead and follow the elves. Do avoid being detected at any cost. If you are spotted, do not return before you have shaken them off. Take turns with returning and reporting their progress to me.” The Minions nodded while grinning. “Now go.”  
  
Additionally to the Greens following the Sarul-Ras directly, Orell ordered the wolf riders to follow the scent trail of the elves as well.   
For now, everything had gone smooth. The elves aborted their search for him and returned after about fifteen minutes. Orell used an illusion of pink, barrel-shaped plant animals for disguise this time. The elves were visibly furious and talked among each other; Gnarl's translations were unneeded to tell what it was about. One Sarul-Ras turned his head in the direction of the disguised horde, but didn't investigate further.  
As the elves were out of hearing range again, Orell put the three Greens back on their heels. Now came the interesting part. Unable to find him, the elves were most likely now returning to their village up in the firetrees. Sooner or later, they would pass by more Sarul-Ras, which meant more opportunities to be discovered. While Orell was pretty confident to be able to take on them with the amount of Minions he had trailing behind him, he preferred the masked group to lead him directly to their doorstep.  
Following the Sarul-Ras had its good sides as well. The call of  _seliet_ resounded every so often, and occasionally Orell did hear something speeding off through the undergrowth. The elves didn't discover the Greens trailing behind them, either, which turned the tracking into a long, uneventful trip.  
  
Snubbly felt miserable.  
The horrible time started when Cribble had turned into a monster and attacked him in their own hut, leaving deep scratches on his arms and chest. Snubbly was able to kick Cribble off, who rolled out of the door and encountered Ruttle there. He had not been so lucky. Cribble ran off and got lost among the other huts, Snubbly was too afraid to follow him and had preferred to hide in the hut instead.   
He felt ashamed because of that. Ashamed, hurt, horrified. And stunk to near-death.  
While hiding in his hut, Snubbly heard screaming, other Minions fighting, getting injured and dying. He waited until the screams died away and until an eerie silence spread through the Barracks. Only then he felt brave enough to leave the hut and he saw the whole scope of whatever was happening in the place he deemed to be a relatively safe home.  
There were some dead or dying Minions he passed by before he encountered a corpse he thought to be Cribble after having lost his headgear. It had the same kind of discoloured skin and blue lumps, not pulsating any more with their host being dead, but he did quickly recognize the dead as Knud. There were several more Browns with the same disease, all of them having their faces smeared in the blood of others.  
Snubbly found Cribble in front of Weedle's hut, with Weedle lying right next to him, her shoulder having been half gnawed off. A deep gash in Cribble's back showed that he died by somebody having killed him from behind.   
That was also the moment a Green found him, telling him to go to Mortis' place in an agitated voice, before hauling the infected corpse up. He didn't even allow Snubbly to keep Cribble's headgear.  
From then on, he was left to wait. A Red mended his wounds as good as he could and the Master briefly showed up to talk about something with Mortis, out of Snubbly's hearing range, but he seemed angry. A part of Snubbly was worried because angry Masters were never a good thing, another part was glad that it was not him who was the reason for his ire. The master went away and after more waiting, the Greens started to take away the assembled Minions one by one.   
Eventually, it was Snubbly's turn to go. The Greens first brought him to Mortis, who cleaned and healed his wounds, then they led him into a part of the Barracks he had never been to, to the other side of the cavern system where the Greens had made their home. There, he was corralled into a small cage made from wood and vines. Snubbly protested quite violently first, but immediately stopped when he was told it was an order from the Master. Since then, he was miserably sitting in that cage, alone and nearly suffocating in the stench.  
All company he had was Schlump, another Brown stuffed into a cage, the only one he had in viewing range. Schlump was just as downcast as Snubbly was.  
A soft tapping on one of the cage's wooden bars made Snubbly look up and raise his drooping ears. The sound came from a young, wide-eyed Green holding a large brown beetle. Once he had Snubbly's attention, he grinned and held the dead insect out for him.  
Snubbly didn't realize how hungry he was, and the Green did his best with getting his hands out of the cage again.  
“Like it?” the Green asked barely audible over the sound of breaking chitin.  
Snubbly briefly looked up from the beetle before he continued eating. The Green still stared at him expectantly. He was still staring when Snubbly was finished with the beetle and done with wiping the entrails from his mouth.  
With all what had happened today, Snubbly didn't want to interact. He turned away and curled up, hoping the Green would get the message and go away.  
  
“Sire, night will fall soon. If that elven youn gster you hired as a guide was anything good for, being out now might be too dangerous, even for an Overlord.”  
Orell didn't answer, not because of a fear of being detected by the group of Sarul-Ras they were tracking, but because he was too busy with carefully stepping around an assemblage of mounds swarming with fierce-looking mutated ants.  
They had to fall back a good deal after the snaking tree forest had opened into a firetree grove. And while their thrumming would have been pretty effective at drowning out the sounds of footsteps or speech, it also had the disadvantage of allowing a much higher visibility. With having a firetree always between himself and the elves, the three Greens had become more vital than before, especially since the wolves seemed to be enticed by the older tracks of other elves crossing the trail they were following. The wolves had gone back to the Netherworld, together with the majority of the Minions, leaving only twenty Greens to make up the horde.  
This change in horde structure happened just in time, as some of the Greens spotted a pair of Sarul-Ras to the right. Orell was pretty sure one of them looked in their direction as he wrapped himself into an illusion while the Minions turned invisible, but they didn't come to investigate.  
Not quite sure what kind of disguise would be the best for the given situation, Orell changed his appearance from a large mushroom into a heavily-camouflaged, upright mantis-like creature that looked like a moss-covered tree stump when its legs were tucked to the sides. Such a creature might very well not exist in the Infected Forest and turn out to be as suspicious as his unhidden self, but Orell already knew a Sarul-Ras disguise would attract unwanted attention and even the Infected Forest didn't have any walking mushrooms, as far as he could tell.  
With his heart in his throat, Orell moved on, following the trail the scouting Greens were showing him. The Minions were employing the same movement style they had used back then in the Sarul-Ras settlement, rapidly moving, then fading into invisibility, while keeping to corners and higher grounds.  
To his misfortune, Orell couldn't follow suit and had to move in a much more exposed way. Night had fallen in the Infected Forest and he got to experience the creatures it brought out for the first time. The ground was crawling with millipedes, worms and pale slugs, which got devoured by shapeless blue creatures Gnarl described as boogers that had grown legs. Once a slimy, pink creature grabbed Orell with its sucker mouth from above and tried to lift him up, but dropped him, shaking with visible disgust after noticing the tasty-looking mantis creature was clad in metal. The other times, where the creatures weren't deterred by the metal, the always close-by Greens took care of it, killing silently and swiftly.  
In between avoiding being eaten, Orell was once again thinking about how possessing one of the Minions like he did in Nordberg's volcano would make things a lot easier.  
“Hm, that's an odd proposal, Sire,” Gnarl said after Orell asked him about the possibility of sending Possession Stones to destinations like Gates. “We didn't have our Bastion of Evil stationed inside the Netherworld that often and your predecessor was not a fan of all that possession business. Probably had to do with all that slipping into a Minion's body not sitting right with him. But as they are an extension of the Netherworld like the Gates are, it must be possible, at least in theory. I will kindly ask Grubby to experiment with the Possession Stone in the Nordberg volcano.”  
_Too late to be used for sneaking into the Sarul-Ras settlement_ , Orell thought, but he could imagine a number of occasions where a portable Possession Stone would be more than useful. Then, a loud, piercing shriek tore off his line of thoughts and looking up, all he could see was a shadow with the wingspan of a harbour gate shoot past, its underside dotted with small blue lights like a night sky.  
As they progressed, the amount of crawling creatures in the leaf litter and spongy lichen covering seemed to decrease rapidly, while a somewhat familiar, sickly sweet smell replaced the omnipresent stench of mold and rotting vegetation.  
The ground was sprawling with the same blooming vines the elven village had used as a barrier. Orell frowned; if there was any doubt  left  about him having been lead into the hands of the Sarul-Ras on purpose, it was gone now. The two settlements maintained a relationship good enough to share knowledge between each other, it seemed. Beyond the vines, there were only few worms and millipedes crawling over the ground, but several Sarul-Ras could be made out in the distance.  
A short stop was necessary to let Orell adjust to the flowers' stench before they continued. The closer they came to their destination, the more elves there were to avoid. Once a young Sarul-Ras woman passed right through the horde, scrunching up her nose and saying something, before walking on. These encounters did slow down the progress a lot and the three scouts returned without going off again, their quarries having moved beyond the barriers up a firetree.  
It felt like hours until they actually reached the base of the tree, where a spiralling platform connected to the ground and dangerous-looking, wooden contraptions served as barriers against the larger fauna. There were fewer Sarul-Ras around now, probably having gone home themselves with the progress of the night.  
Obviously, a mantis creature up there would raise more than just a few suspicions and any other creatures of the Infected Forest wouldn't be suitable as a disguise, either. Out of options, Orell shifted the illusion back to the Sarul-Ras self he had used the first time, but changed a number of details that turned him into a different individual. He only needed to be more careful to avoid any close encounters, or refrain from taking any sacred weapons from suspicious-looking huts this time.  
  
The climb of the spiral ramp wrapping around the firetree's turned out to be more tiresome than Orell had remembered. Despite neither suffering from a concussion or having a horde of angry Sarul-Ras on his heels this time, he was out of breath very soon and had to stop numerous times to recuperate before the bridges branching off to the main settlements were reached, not an easy task while also having to pretend to be a normal part of the village for the few elves still present on the ramp as well.   
“Ah, feels almost like home, doesn't it.” Gnarl's sudden voice made Orell almost jump. “Now since we are back in the settlement, please enlighten me on your plans, Lord.”  
Orell looked around to check if there were any elves in hearing range. “I want to find the village's elder.”  
“Ah, good thinking, Master. Chopping the head off this persistent snake will not only take away the main reason why those ruffians are still chasing you, but it will also make them disoriented enough to make them easy prey when you, let's say, gently put them under your command.”  
“Actually, I wanted to have a talk with her.” Orell could almost hear the eye roll made by Gnarl far away in the Netherworld. “First of all, I need to know their motives. Maybe we can meet on common grounds about the sacrifice and I could win them to my side against our common enemy.”  
“Master, shall I remind you what they did-”  
“No, Gnarl, you shall not. This is why I just wanted to ask you if a Netherworld Gate can be drilled through a tree.”  
“Ah, planning an abduction? Now that comes more after my tastes. I will have the torture instruments oiled and ready when you arrive!”  
“I was planning to use the Gate as a last resort, or to be able to flee, should things go awry. Put the torture instruments back wherever you keep them, the hardest measure we will take will be shackles.”  
“A bummer, I really missed the sounds of the suffering in the Tower. The acoustics for pained screams are just perfect!”  
“Don't distract me, Gnarl,” Orell put the discussion to an end as he reached the spiral's top, “and keep the Gate at the ready. I need to find the settlement's leader first.”  
“I will open an abscess for good luck.”  
Good luck was something Orell needed – the top of the spiral ended in a wide platform around the firetree's trunk, with a lot of paths branching off it, ranging from flimsy vine connections to solid bridges wide enough to fit a carriage. He couldn't check every single one of them for the Sarul-Ras woman with the wooden arm. The best place to start searching would be the place he had seen her first.  
“Talon, do you know the way to the wooden platform, where the ritual was held at?” he whispered to his side, after looking around and seeing no elves in hearing range.  
Out of the shadows cast by a firetree branch the Green with the conspicuous necklace appeared. His ears askew, he looked around.   
“Not sure,” came the whispered answer. “Took other tree up.”  
Just as Orell wanted to sigh in resignation, Gnarl spoke up. “I would suggest to take the thickest bridge, Master. If their ceremonial platform isn't there, something else worth of killing or pillaging will be at its end.”  
He couldn't argue with that logic. If he was lucky, it would lead him either straight to the platform or the woman's dwelling, or they will enter an area Talon was more familiar with to show him the way.   
Imitating the walking style of the other Sarul-Ras around as best as he could, Orell headed for the widest bridge he could see, the Minions either darting from cover to cover or climbing the vines hanging above.  
Several red-leaved branches obscured the sight. The few Sarul-Ras on the bridge paid Orell no attention and he could see one yawning and vanish behind the cloth covering the entrance of an onion-shaped dwelling hidden between the branches.   
The bridge opened into a wide platform around a firetree branch as thick as a barn, while fewer and fewer elves were being outside. Internally, Orell smiled to himself about having been lucky for a change – with the night progressing, the amount of watching eyes got smaller and the danger of getting busted diminished.  
The vanishing elves w ere bringing the other, unseen dwellers of the settlement out. There were odd, rounded creatures slowly crawling over the platform's vines, which vanished with a powerful jump once anything came too close, and arm-long slugs with faintly-glowing green spots rasped serpentinuous patterns into the moss and algae covering the wood.  
“And now?”  
“Hmm, that bridge with the flowers looks promising, Master.”  
The bridge in question led upwards and he could only see the underside of the hanging arbo u r it connected with. When reaching the bridge's other end, Orell wasn't sure how he would be able to cross the mess.  
“Looks promising?”  
“Well, they might still store their ritual herbs, holy crumpets or their favourite erotic woodcuts here, Sire.”  
“I'm sure there is a bridge around leading to the other side that doesn't have its way blocked by erotic woodcuts.” Orell gave one of the many bags that covered nearly the entire ground of the arbo u r a kick, only to jump back when the bag started to hiss. Several Greens immediately materialised with raised claws, but lowered them when a fat, still hissing beetle emerged from between the bags to hide in a less disturbed place.  
The second bridge tried was once again the widest. It connected to a smaller, uneven platform with a single, large hut on it. Orell had one of the Greens peeking under the door cover, but it turned out to be an gathering place with no signs of Sarul-Ras, wooden arm or not. From there, Orell could see only precariously thin vine ropes leading off, which might not even be used to walk on.  
Back on the main platform, Orell started checking all the bridges counter-clockwise and found a promising one on the fourth try. The bridge itself was not very conspicuous, a very average-looking connection woven from snaking tree trunks and thinner vines. Several platforms with huts branched off it and even more vine tethers were connected to it, giving the Greens an easy opportunity to avoid the few elves still present on it.   
The bridge seemed to have no end. First straight, it began to describe a generous curve around a firetree while gaining altitude. Several thinner bridges connected it to a platform directly adjacent to the trunk, which was covered in pustule-like dwellings. Orell wondered how the Sarul-Ras living there could sleep with the firetree's pulse being so loud. Even without a headache bothering him this time, he felt like he would be getting one from the pounding alone.  
Talon brought his thoughts back to more important matters.  
“Master, know the way from here”, a voice from the vines above whispered, followed by the sounds of claws on wood running ahead.  
Orell had to give the mental command to the overenthusiastic Greens to go slower, as the clanking of his plate armour would break the immersion of him being a part of the settlement's populace. The Minions took one of the thinner connections and several more platforms and bridges later, Orell recognized the surroundings as well. Below him there was a crescent-shaped platform around a firetree trunk with a number of dwellings grown into its bark. He looked at the side of a dwelling with distaste, where a sleeping whooper sat on a perch.  
He had passed the platform back then, when that whooper had given him a good scare.  
Trying to not look too concerned by the flying predator, Orell followed the Greens' scratching sounds. The lower level had several Sarul-Ras, among them two women sitting outside, talking and laughing. He felt relieved when a low-hanging branch full of ink-blue leaves finally obscured their view.  
As he moved away from the branch himself, it slowly revealed the wide ritual platform beneath. It was completely empty and together with its complex patterns woven into it by the vines it was grown from, it gave the place a very eerie feel. Orell could see from his position that the platform was teardrop-shaped, with the elongated part leading right up to a massive pulsing trunk that was covered in paintings and decorations.  
“Hm, looks like the Sarul-Ras have a special connection to these firetrees. This makes me all the more excited about drilling a Gate right through them!”  
Orell stopped in his tracks for a moment. If the firetrees were sacred, he would probably enrage the entire populace of this settlement to the point they would try to hunt him down anywhere in the Infected Forest, and outside of it, too. He jossed the idea of getting a Gate up there and decided that if things should go awry, he would take the leader as a hostage and get onto solid ground first.   
It was best to not let things go awry.  
“Do you lot see the hut of the priestess?” he asked while looking around. There were several dwellings around, but most didn't look like they were made to be inhabited. They were small, round constructs hanging from vines, either used to store something or constructed for some kind of animal. If it was the latter, Orell preferred to not get too close to them.   
“Up there!” one of the Greens hissed. And indeed, high above their heads there were more bridges and proper huts to be seen. But how to get to them? There were no evident bridges connecting to the upper system.  
The sound of Minion feet on wood caught Orell's attention.  
“Master, there!” Blot grinned and gestured at a swaying structure hanging next to a bridge. Orell eyed it sceptically. It was a bag-shaped, airy structure made of interwoven vines that were dotted with greenish-white flowers, each of them surrounded by a swarm of midges. It looked like several people could fit into it, but it was attached to only a single green vine that didn't look like it would be able to hold a single child.   
“What is this supposed to be?” he whispered to the Greens.  
It was Gnarl who answered. “This is the elven brand of an elevator. It might look like a horde of drunken gnomes had strung it together from a garden's worth of weeds, but surprisingly, it works.”  
“For a light elf maybe, but not for me.”   
“Don't worry, Master. It might look rickety, but it's very stable. Your predecessor used such elevators to conquer the elven Sanctuaries and they never broke, even with a Minion horde being added. Trust me, your predecessor was much heavier than you are, Sire.”  
Still wary, Orell stepped forward. Both Gnarl and the present Greens didn't share his doubts about the elevator's stability and it didn't appear like he had a choice in this matter that didn't involve a longer search for another path up.  
Orell carefully stepped into the construct, testing its stability with a foot first before giving himself over to the single green vine. The elevator swayed and bounced a little, but it held. Then it swayed and bounced not just a little more when all of the twenty Greens got onto it as well. It got cramped on the elevator very quickly. There was barely enough space for five of the Minions, yet twelve squeezed into it while the rest had to hang off the walls. Orell's fingers cramped around the elevator's vines, but he doubted he would have fallen out with the mass of Greens pressing against his legs.  
One of the Greens reached up and touched the yellow knob on the elevator's ceiling. There was some creaking and Orell felt the elevator move up. A glance upwards showed the support vine curl up like a spiral and drag the basketlike chamber it held upwards.  
The elevator came to a halt next to a bridge of the upper level, hanging a bit too low because of the collective weight of the Greens. It quickly got to its proper height once the Minions had jumped off and left their master to leave the elevator last.  
Orell felt very positive about finding the priestess on this upper level. There was a number of huts being accessible, most of them larger and more decorated than the ones he had passed so far. His eyes fell onto the largest hut among them, a round-walled dwelling with walls decorated in carvings, a roof made of large striped leaves and a painted cloth covering the entrance with a colourful mask hung above the door.  
“This looks like a place you would expect a priestess to live. Priests tend to like pompous places, especially from those religions that preach modesty.”  
Carefully, Orell crept towards the entrance, the Minions right behind him. Wanting to check what he was up against first, he used his unsheathed blade to gently push the cloth at the entrance aside and took a peek behind it.  
He recoiled in shock.  
A morbid curiosity got hold of him and he pushed the cloth aside again. The hut's inside was reasonably well-lit by broad fungi growing on the walls, showing the grown furnishing in a circular arrangement. There were various pots placed against the walls, but their fragrant contents were unable to cover up the terrible stench filling the air. The source of the stench lay on a round, altar-like table, not dissimilar from the one Orell found his armour on when he woke up in a different hut days ago.  
“Master, out of courtesy I skipped telling you about the coming-of-age rite of the Sarul-Ras, but it seems like you found it out yourself.”  
“What in the Abyss Serpent's name are they  _doing_ ?” Orell asked while staring at the butchered corpse of a Green.   
“They hunt down one of  _your_ Green Minions, Master, then every young Sarul-Ras has to cut off a piece of specific weight, prepare and eat it. Those that survive are welcomed to the society as full adults.”  
“Gnarl, that was a rhetoric question. Egh...” The curtain went down again, which thankfully blocked most of the smell out. Orell had seen enough dismembered Minions for today.  
The other huts didn't contain any similarly grisly sights, but the priestess was nowhere to be seen, either. Most were empty and seemed to serve as storage rooms, a few had sleeping elves in them, all of them having bandages, splints and other treated injuries.   
After checking the supposedly last hut, Orell paused in the middle of the bridges and platforms to look around. Either he had missed a hut or the priestess wasn't actually here.   
“Master, come see,” Wellsy interrupted his thoughts.   
Orell looked at the Green horde leader in annoyance, but followed him. He was led to a thin, inconspicuous bridge half-hidden behind leaves and vines, a bridge that ended at a small, shabby hut. He was sure he had checked this section of the platform system; it was as if it hadn't existed just before.   
Wellsy stepped back to defer to his master, who cautiously reached out to push the rough cloth covering the entrance away.  
“I have expected you”, a creaky voice resounded from the darkness beyond the cloth. Orell nearly fell over and Gnarl shouted in his ear from surprise.   
“How...” he murmured after having regained composure.  
“Come in”, the voice inside the hut beckoned.  
“Master, I don't trust that voice, be on your guard,” Gnarl hissed.  
Pushing the cover aside, Orell took a single step inside.  
It turned out that Gnarl's theory about the Sarul-Ras head priestess' whereabouts was wrong. The inside of the hut was just as simple and basic as the outside, having barely more than a lumpy mattress and a grown shelf with a bowl that looked like a giant nutshell on top as  furniture . The walls were covered in shelves with all kinds of bottles, bundles of herbs and dried animal parts, save for the back wall showing a colourful painting of the same subject he had seen both in the hut he was held and on the ritual platform.  
The priestess sat on a bluish moss patch in front of the painting. She looked like Orell remembered her, except the large skull adorning her head was gone, revealing a wrinkly, toothless face but the pair of piercing orange eyes giving off a faint glow betrayed her nature.  
“How did you know...”  
The priestess raised a hand. “ _She_ told me. She has many eyes and ears, offering her visions to anyone willing to stop to see and to listen. Nothing can hide from her. Not even the  _Shahiks_ hiding behind you, Maghrul-Sar... being of iron.”   
Orell felt the collective surprise of the Greens in his head, a brief pulse in the stuffed feeling filling his head he barely paid attention to any more.  
“She has been telling me about you from the moment you set your first foot into her realm,” the priestess continued.  
“Who is 'she'?”  
A grin parted the wrinkles on the elder's face. “You know her very well. She is everywhere, in every plant and every insect. This place is where she decided to merge with our world, where her blessing is the strongest. There is a reason why she guided you to her sanctuary.”  
“Wait... is this shrivelled-up pickle talking about... the Mother Goddess?” Gnarl said. “Sounds like quite an improvement compared to that tub of lard matron worshipped by the usual elves.”   
“And what does she want of me, that she led me all the way here?” Orell asked the priestess, not fazed by Gnarl's realisation. He was well-aware that the worship of the Mother Goddess varied between cultures a lot and it didn't surprise him that the Sarul-Ras were seeing her represented in the Infected Forest.   
“She wants something in return for what you took from her. She had been restless since her consort was taken, longing for the balance to be restored.”  
“Wh-” Orell began, but Gnarl interrupted him.  
“She's talking about the Forgotten God, Master! An Overlord before your time had killed him. He got stuck in that wretched worm's realm since then, unfortunately.”  
“I didn't kill her consort,” Orell finished his sentence.   
“Which individual did what doesn't matter to her. Maghrul-Sar took, Maghrul-Sar pays.”  
“Then, what payment does she wish for?”  
The priestess grinned again, even wider. “ _You_ .”  
Orell was unimpressed. “I have thought as much. Unfortunately, I have to disappoint you and your goddess. I came here to save your as well as  _her_ forest from the paladins and their will to burn its entirety to ashes. Find a different way to appease your deity. Sacrificing me will not help you in the long run.”  
“I am not talking about ending your life, being of iron. I am talking about  _joining_ her.” The priestess raised her arm again, the wooden one this time. “All it takes is a little seed. Child of the forest or child of the plains, it doesn't matter to her. She doesn't dictate who can and who can not receive her blessing.”  
“Master, don't!” Gnarl shouted. “Do you remember that unicorn parasite? Those firetrees are the same, growing up inside the bodies of the Sarul-Ras. Having an Overlord dying to being devoured from the inside out by a  _tree_ out of all things would be a most embarrassing thing to happen in my advising career.”  
“I didn't say you have a choice in this. Her demands will be met. As for those pesky men and their fire, they will fail with or without your interven tion . She and her forest  h ave survived much worse.”  
A faint shout made Orell briefly flinch into its direction. Even at this distance he could tell what kind of shout it was. Somehow, the priestess was able to inform the other Sarul-Ras of his presence, just like she was able to track him without seeing.   
“But there is a choice in this. I can leave and take out anyone who stands in my way.”  
“Don't be silly, being of iron. Neither you nor your Shahiks can hide in this grove sacred to her, especially not when she is upset about you leaving.”  
Now it was Orell's turn to grin, invisible under his helmet. “I can when I close her eyes first. Especially when my Shahiks are upset about you carving up their kin to feed them to your people.”  
The priestess gave him a sceptical look. “You are speaking in riddles, being of iron.”  
There was nothing for him to explain. Orell turned back to the Greens waiting behind him.   
“Eat her.”  
As the Greens rushed past him inside the hut and a piercing scream was quickly ended and replaced by the sound of flesh being torn and gobbled down, Orell stepped outside to take a look at the situation.   
The shouting was still distant, but it was closer now. There was not much time left before the first Sarul-Ras would show up.  
“This was magnificent, Sire!” Gnarl said elatedly. “Aah, the wonders a bit of carnage once in a while does to your mood... However, you said you wanted to take the priestess as a hostage, Master. Did the situation slip from your hands and you broke its neck again?”  
“No, Gnarl, I did what was right. This priestess set off the entire populace of this settlement against me and taking her out of the equation allowed me to buy some time to get away from this place.” Orell was on the way to the elevator as he said these words. He called back the Greens to join him.  
“Eh, and there I was oiling the shackles for nothing.”  
“Stop complaining and see if you can find a way to a firetree trunk!”  
Back on the level below, Orell was met with his first Sarul-Ras, a youth running straight for him, brandishing a bone mace and having a face distorted in anger. He was no challenge and was taken out by a Green stabbing him in the back of the legs with more Minions piling on him once he was downed, but every corpse left was a trace for the others to follow.  
“Master, do you see this long, straight bridge? Send some Greens over there and let them cut the vines it is hung up on!”  
Orell did as Gnarl said. There was not a direct way down to the ritual platform below, which did have the contact to a firetree trunk he was looking for, but the bridge in question would collapse into a ramp leading right onto the platform. As the Greens tore through the vines one by one, Orell was forced to defend himself against another Sarul-Ras who had run up from behind. The woman's tooth sword was easily blocked by his own metal one and a shove with it sent her over the edge of the narrow bridge and onto the platform below, where her scream came to an abrupt halt.   
The distant section of the bridge soon followed her, crashing into the platform below in a billowing cloud of spores and moss pieces. The Greens that had severed the last few vines supporting it had held onto the vine stumps and were now finding their own way to the platform by climbing and jumping over the network of vines supporting the structure. Meanwhile, Orell and the rest of the Greens were heading down the newly-created ramp, towards the rows of orange light travelling upward.  
And towards a large group of Sarul-Ras storming onto the platform from several directions at once.  
“Gnarl! Send a Gate!” Orell bellowed while crashing shoulder-first into an attacking elf. He hoped Grubby had done some preparations and was able to send the Gate quickly. Two more elves jumped aside when he swung his sword at them and another elf attacking from the right was downed by a Green before he was able to reach Orell.  
He came to a sliding halt and turned around, his back against the rough, lava-like bark of the firetree. More and more elves ran onto the platform from the bridges connecting to it. All of them were visibly enraged and ran right at Orell, ignoring the Greens.   
The Greens were what saved his life in the end.   
Half a blink after parrying a tooth sword, Orell had to block a wooden club with his gauntlet. A slash into the direction of the club wielder drove him out of range, but the Sarul-Ras armed with a sword attacked again with a strike from below. Around him, the Greens took out one elf after another, jumping down from the vines above to vanish after striking into the foliage again or just turning invisible on the open platform, attacking any passerby from behind, but even their efforts weren't enough to prevent every elf being downed by Orell to be replaced by two.  
Especially Wellsy put his efforts into taking out as many Sarul-Ras as possible. He was the one who stayed the closest to Orell, killing and crippling as many elves as he could. He did pay his price for it; it didn't take long until he was bleeding from several gashes and got an arrow lodged in his left arm.  
“Gnarl, hurry up!” Orell shouted while fighting off a young man armed with a spear. He had pressed himself into a furrow in the tree's bark which covered both his back and sides from attacks, but even in this favourable position he wouldn't hold out for long. His sword arm was slowly getting numb and the successful strikes the Sarul-Ras managed were adding up.  
“Sire, trees are a horrible medium to drill in. Grubby is doing what he can, hold out, Master!”  
The elf with a spear screamed and fell when Wellsy cut through his leg tendons. Then the Green hissed and went down himself when another arrow hit him in the leg.  
The downed Sarul-Ras was stepped over by the burliest elf Orell had seen so far, his facial features hidden underneath a bone mask and a large club in his hand. The elf roared as he brought his club down. Without the ability to avoid the blow because of his position, Orell tried to glance it off him. He was semi-successful; his sword arm went numb completely and the club grazed his pauldron, hard enough to make Orell nearly lose his footing.  
“Gnarl!” There was no way he could withstand another blow without any serious injury.  
Gnarl didn't reply.  
His stance seeping the kind of confidence only the ending of the life belonging to the one who killed their priestess could bring, the burly Sarul-Ras lifted the club over his head. Then he faltered. He roared, but it was not a battlecry, it was full of shock and sorrow. All of his confidence lost, the elf stepped back.   
The platform went silent.  
Without the screaming of the figh t ing and the dying covering it up, Orell could hear the pounding of the tree he was pressing against clearly again. It had become faster and a bit irregular. The Sarul-Ras began to step back from it, sheer horror on every face not obscured by a mask or helmet. One of them began to shriek and sob uncontrollably.  
Hearing a familiar rumbling, Orell quickly stepped away from the tree himself. None too late; the painted bark exploded where he had stood, a familiar rock structure boring out of the tree's side. The pounding was more frantic and accompanied by surges of orange, glowing resin pouring from the wound the Gate had inflicted. The streams of tree sap became more numerous when a smaller gate for the Greens erupted from the tree as well.   
The Minions in question assembled around Orell's legs, laughing at and taunting the elves that didn't dare to come closer. An exception was Wellsy, who was mostly busy not fainting from the blood loss.  
The resin flowed in streams onto the platform, driving the Sarul-Ras even further away from Orell and the Gates. Some of them were falling onto their knees and wailing, some stared at him with deep hate, but no one attacked.   
Orell felt relief at the fight having ended, but strangely, there was also satisfaction at the sight of their faces.  
He had completely ruined his original plan and he wasn't sure if the Sarul-Ras would stop hunting him now or if they would just increase their efforts in killing him. He was pretty sure he lost some allies among the elves not perverted by the Infected Forest, though.  
It went horribly wrong and yet he felt no remorse. What was going on with him?  
He felt like he should say something to the elves, but it felt ridiculous and stupid to him. Besides, the Sarul-Ras probably didn't understand his language, anyway. Casting a last glance at the horrified elves, Orell dismissed the Minions and stepped into the waiting Gate himself, which closed and retracted back into the bleeding tree, leaving a large surge of orange, glowing resin behind. 


	17. With friends like these

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time around, Orell partcipates in an audience again, meets a new friend, gets farted in the face, gets a strange visitor from the forest, goes spelunking, gets nearly eaten and attends a monster fight. . Meanwhile, Quaver drives Gnarl up the walls, something mysterious is going on in the bowels of the Netherworld, Snubbly is finally free now and we get some insights in treating mite infestations. There's also two references in there, one pretty famous and easy to spot, the other rather obscure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, critiques help me improve.

Only the next morning Orell began to fathom the entire scope of what he had done yesterday. Over the night, the strangely triumphant feeling he had when he let the Minions kill the priestess and when he let Grubby bore a hole into one of the Sarul-Ras' sacred trees had vanished and let only a deep shame behind.   
What was he thinking? He wanted to solve the problem at hand with diplomacy, but all he had managed was to worsen the situation. If he was lucky, the Sarul-Ras would let go of him, now their head priestess was dead and they had seen what a Gate did to one of their firetrees. If he was unlucky, and that was what he expected, they would scour the entire Infected Forest for him and flay him alive. Which would be an outcome that would greatly hinder him in finding and fighting the paladins.  
While walking down the winding stairs that connected the throne room to the private quarters, Orell was planning how to proceed. Gnarl interrupted his thoughts.  
“Bad morning, Master.” The elderly Minion looked more sour and wrinkly than usual. “The forge has informed me that they are done with the replacement pieces of the armour. I suggest you paying them a visit before you go out to give those traitorous elves what they deserve.”  
The elves... it was the village's reeve who had led him and the Minions into the open arms of the Sarul-Ras and it was Gnarl who had prevented him from walking into them. Orell would have to return to the village; not to follow Gnarl's suggestion, but to find out why they have done this.  
“Not now”, Orell replied, casting a short glance down himself to point out the lack of armour. “There is something I have to do in the Barracks first.”  
On the way to the ledge that led to the floating rocks, Orell walked past an enthusiastic Quaver playing on his lute along two other Minions, a Brown beating on a drum from Nordberg and a Green operating the Voice of the Forest, the three creating a cacophony that was not improved by Quaver's singing being added to the mix. Orell couldn't suppress his grin when he realized this orchestra was the reason for Gnarl's current sourness.  
  
Orell was pleased to see that at least some life had returned to the outskirts of the cave system the Minions called their home. They might look cautious and depressed, but it was still a much better state than what he had seen during his last visit. He approached a Brown to let him lead to some unfinished business the blue mold infection had prevented him from dealing with yesterday.  
Rather than the usual homewear consisting of an old red robe, he was wearing a new set of linen underclothes now. Aside from said robe having been thrown off the ledge into the abyss to prevent the contamination of the Tower with the spores, he couldn't allow himself to wear something that loose with the place he had in mind.  
The surroundings soon changed; the air got ever hotter and it didn't take long for small streams of lava to appear. Even if he generously stepped over the lava, Orell could smell the linen of his clothes getting singed from this distance. He remembered this part of the Burrows from the one time he foolishly decided he could find his way through the labyrinth of caverns alone. The leading Brown was exchanged for a Red, who led Orell deeper into the part of the Barracks reserved for his tribe and the surroundings became less familiar soon.  
Both temperature and amount of lava flowing through the tunnels increased. Even though he wasn't wearing any armour this time, the heat was worse than in the volcano caves Orell had found the Red Minions.   
Despite the nearly unbearable heat, the path seemed to be a cooler tunnel leading straight into the heart of the Reds' domicile; the walls became rather porous and allowed insights into the adjacent tunnels, crossed by lava streams and bridged with slag-covered metal that glowed a faint red in the proximity of the molten rock. It was as if the Netherworld's magic itself maintained a tunnel safe enough to use for its master, while the rest of this part of the caves was accessible to its fiery inhabitants only.   
In the end, the walls were so porous they were virtually absent and the tunnel continued as a wide path within a system of red-hot streams and lakes, which lazily crept through a wide cavern before vanishing down below in the glowing depths of the abyss. What he saw in that cavern made Orell almost stop and stare in awe.  
He never expected the Reds to be such masterful architects and builders.  
Despite the material used for the bricks and shingles was the same reddish, porous rock that lined the copious lava pools and streams, the buildings themselves would have suited a castle from a fairytale. Dainty little towers were topped by roofs as pointy as a gnome's hat and connected by arching bridges, melting into each other at their base and smoothly merged into the unhewn rock it was built on. Even weirder were the mirror images of those buildings on the ceiling, seemingly defying gravity and anything else Orell knew of construction engineering.   
To the left, the ground rose and formed several lava falls, in the middle of it a crude metal statue seemingly depicting a very simplified version of a Minion with an open mouth, from which the largest stream of lava spilled into a pool between the statue's arms. On top of the statue's head a familiar structure stood like an oddly-shaped crown.  
Both the space around the buildings and the statue were filled with Red Minions engaging in various activities. The Red guide led him between the towers, where the light coming from the lava was dimmed. There were not many buildings and they reached their destination quickly.  
The Red stepped back to defer to Orell. The place he had led his master to was a dead end in the middle of the Reds' buildings, where a large mound of volcanic rock was piled up. An assortment of Reds were on and around the mound, the bulk of their attention focused on a depression in the side of the rock pile. Jet lounged in there, surrounded by bones and a large beer keg next to her, and two of her bone-armoured praetorians next by.   
The scene made Orell feel as if he was asking for an audience from a queen. Actually, he didn't know how to start his sentence at first.  
“Jet, I have a task for you,” he spoke. The addressed Red peered down from her magmatic throne. “A few days ago, you killed a mutant badger not by fireballs, but by blowing a torrent of fire down its throat. Is that an ability other Red Minions can learn?”  
Jet eyed him for a few more seconds. “Yes, Master. Just need to blow fuel through teeth.”  
“Then I want you to teach other Reds how to do it. And teach them anything else you know what's useful in combat.”  
_This was the easy part. Now on to the hard part_ , Orell thought.  
“For this, I want you to stay in the Barracks and train the Reds. This also means you will have to stay in the Barracks and devote your time to this task, unless your skills are needed in the field.”  
The black matriarch grinned slightly. “As you wish, Master.”  
Orell waited for her to protest, to say anything else. He remembered the struggle with Chasm all too well when he assigned the scarred fighter to train the Browns in the use of shields and in dual-wielding. But where Chasm had protested at the notion to be left behind in the Barracks, Jet appeared almost happy about it.  
  
After his busin ess done in the Barracks and his armour retrieved from the Private Quarters, Orell visited the Forge. Gnarl could hear his arrival way before his master came into sight.   
“Ah, there you are, Sire,” the Minion Master greeted him. Gnarl had waited for him here, because he knew this was a place where his master would spend a bit of his time. Unfortunately, it involved waiting way too close to that wench from Faairdal, but Gnarl knew Giblet and the other forge workers wouldn't allow her to get rough. Besides, he preferred this kind of risk over having to listen to Quaver's chinking any longer.  
The Overlord paid little attention to him and headed straight for the workbench, where the commissioned replacement pieces were deposited.  
“That treacherous village needs to be dealt with as soon as possible,” Gnarl continued from where he had stopped in the Throne Room earlier, while the master took off the damaged armour pieces to replace them. “Do not expect them to stop betraying you just because you introduced the favourite tree of their friends to what amounts to a Netherworldly version of a bark beetle infestation, and I will bet my collection of toenails that it's not the only elven village that prefers to end up in the flames of the paladins rather than under the rule of an Overlord. You do have to set an example, Master.”  
“Why, to waste my time and let the paladins get away from me even further?” The Master turned his head towards Gnarl and raised an eyebrow. “While dealing with the Sarul-Ras was necessary, that village can't betray us any longer.”  
“And do you think this one village was the only one willing to betray you? You heard yourself that every hamlet in a radius of a giant moth's flight distance had been informed of your presence, giving any of those more willing to lick the shiny boots of a paladin over bowing to an Overlord ample time to set up an ambush. And they will, considering they are  _elves_ . Gifting you that horrible instrument was just the beginning of their plan of stopping you.” Gnarl shuddered at the memory of Quaver's newest rehearsals.  
The Master's eyebrows shifted again. “Yes, Gnarl, I am aware that you like elves as far as you can throw them, but what advantage will it bring me in catching up with the paladins to set up some time aside for taking revenge on an elven settlement? In best case, nothing, because unlike the elves, I don't know how to inform the other villages. In worst case, I will have alienated the allied villages and will have to risk even more traps or attacks. I will not waste my time with this.”  
“But what if the Sarul-Ras tell that elven village about what you did to their tree and they will inform the other settlements of it, which would  _surely_ alienate every single treehugger that would have given you support in preventing the paladins from turning their beloved trees into the biggest bonfire the world has seen. It's a small village, I know you can take it quickly and with few casualties.” Gnarl refrained from directly reminding his Master of Faairdal. Not because of him, but because of the hammer-brandishing wench being in earshot... what was her name again? Astrid?  
While he pulled the straps taut that held the right gauntlet in its place, the Overlord's eyebrows told half of his words by themselves. “Why yes, I remember how it went when I 'quickly' and 'painlessly' took the last village. It escapes me why I should try that again.”  
Gnarl folded his fingers and gave his Master a defeated smile, with a nervous side glance at the wench that came from the mentioned village. It was time to change tactics.  
“Surely you shouldn't, Master. However, you have gone off-track with those paladins, and if the elves of that hamlet are really cooperating with the polished tin cans, they know into what cupboard the cans have  _really_ gone. Getting that information out of them is important either way, Lord, unless you prefer to aimlessly wander the Infected Forest again.”  
The Overlord had finished exchanging the damaged armour pieces with the newly-forged ones. “You have a point there, Gnarl.” Finally. “I wish you would have suggested that right away.”  
“I was worried about the Minions, Sire. Diplomacy bores them. Bored Minions tend to jump around on moldy carcasses.”  
“Well, then it's best I send the Minions back to the Barracks whenever diplomacy is expedient.”  
“Master, I suggest you shouldn't. Actually, I recommend to take a larger number of Minions to the elven hamlet, just for your own security. They might try to attack you when they see their plan to offer you to the Sarul-Ras went down the drain, and even if they don't, a big horde with jagged weaponry in their claws and bared teeth is a powerful argument.”  
The Overlord looked at Gnarl for a few seconds before answering, thinking Gnarl's suggestion over. “Good, have the Minions prepared and ready.”  
Gnarl gave his master a toothy grin and a nod. Now all he needed was a small mistake on either side, maybe with a few nudges from him here and there, and that traitorous treehugger hamlet would be grovelling under the Overlord's metal boots. Or as the Overlord himself had put it not long ago, the situation was ripe to slip out of his hands, with him easily snapping its neck when he tries to catch it.  
This new Master was a challenge. Too smart for his own good, too stubborn to be easily influenced, too virtuous and bona fide to be a proper figurehead of Evil. But Gnarl still liked him. The recent Overlords he had were men of few words, trusting executioners that pointed the Minions at the places that Gnarl himself pointed them to. Easy to deal with, but also boring. This new Master was a challenge, and Gnarl happily accepted it. After all, Evil will always find a way into the heart of any man, no matter how smart, how stubborn or how virtuous he might be.  
  
Out in the dim light of the Infected Forest, Orell examined the right gauntlet again. While the shine of the freshly-forged armour piece had looked very appealing in the red illumination of the Netherworld's forge, it was too much of a giveaway in the bioluminescent gloom. As nice as the new replacement pieces looked, he had to dull the sheen down.  
The Gate of choice was the one just outside the Sarul-Ras territory, where he had exchanged Minions. The Gate drilled through the Firetree was out of question, and Orell preferred to approach the elven village from outside after having sent a Green to report on its current situation.  
But before that, he had to get back to the village's outskirts. Following Gnarl's advice, Orell drew a decently-sized horde from the smaller Minion gates, consisting of the most well-equipped, experienced, and hopefully also self-controlled Minions, before he went into the general direction of where he assumed the village to be. With the exception of Ferin and Sap's unnamed creature, the mounts remained in the Netherworld, as he wanted full control over them, preferring not to risk a wolf snapping at a passing ankle or a spider threatening someone moving too fast for its liking.   
The decayed trail was hard to miss and if he still managed to walk past it, there still was Ferin's keen nose to get him back on track.  
It seemed like the mornings were the safest times in the Infected Forest, when the night's terrors had went back to sleep and the diurnal creatures were still hiding from the latecomers. Orell saw a few mutated deer leap away into the undergrowth. Luckily, the Minions didn't attempt to chase the fleeing creatures, the memory of the blue mold was too fresh.   
Ferin's services weren't needed, the path was as easily found as Orell had expected. However, he found something very unexpected on that same path as well.  
He didn't want to believe the scouting Green first, but the Minion wasn't hallucinating – there was indeed a man walking on the path towards them. Armoured with a mixture of mushroom leather and with dull steel plates over more vital areas, he appeared to be either an inhabitant of the Infected Forest or an elf from outside visiting relatives. Orell put a hand on his sword's hilt, but took it immediately off when the elf gave a friendly wave.  
“Hello there, I didn't expect to see you again so soon,” the elf called from a distance, making several Greens hiss and lay their ears flat against their necks, and their master mentally curse.  
“Do we know each other?” Orell asked when he was closer and able to speak quieter. He wasn't able to fully hide his surprise, as he spotted round ears in between the man's long blonde locks.  
“No,” came the reply. “You probably don't but I have seen you yesterday in Nakireen, when you spoke to the elder. Weren't you off to chase that paladin group?”  
“Something, let's call it 'unexpected', forced me to return.”   
The man's contented expression was wiped off his face while his eyes moved between Orell and the armed Minions behind him. “Oh.  _Oh_ .”  
Orell raised an eyebrow. The man paused for a few seconds, his expression now sad and begging. “Please don't do this. Nakireen is not at fault. Not only is that village being held at ransom by the corrupted elves from the tree titan grove, demanding one of them being sacrificed every moon, but that group of paladins didn't just pass through. They knew they were followed and forced the reeve to make sure the ones following them would be eliminated.”  
“What?” Orell and Gnarl said both in unison. “What else do you know about the passing paladins?” the former continued, his hand on the sword's hilt again.  
“They rested a few days ago in Nakireen, restocking on supplies. Very unfriendly fellows.”  
“Did they say where they were going?”  
“Let me think... I believe they called it Matthi-Nel. Yes, now I remember,” the man said while scratching his neck.  
“Do you know where Matthi-Nel is?”  
Now, the man smiled. “You must be new here, Matthi-Nel is the large ruin atop the Mountain of Thunders, Evernight's oldest remaining capital.”  
“Excellent, Sire. Now slit that piss-coloured poodle's throat and onwards to Matthi-Nel, after we had paid that elven hamlet Nakireen a visit.”  
Orell ignored his advisor's suggestion, but he didn't take his hand off his sword yet. “You seem to be well-versed in these lands' history. But I'm not quite sure who I'm talking to,” he addressed the man with narrowed eyes.  
“Oh.” The man grabbed his forehead in embarrassment. “I'm sorry. My name is Richard de Valette. I study the ruins left behind by fallen civilisations and try to save artefacts before the tooth of time grinds them into dust.”  
“You rob catacombs,” Orell flatly stated. “Do the people who offered you their hospitality know why you're really here?”   
“Yes, yes. I'm doing this at order of the Golden City's academy, the locals agreed that the treasures are better off when cared for properly and on display, rather than forgotten.”  
“Well then,” Orell finally took his hand off the hilt. “Thank you for the directions.”  
He wanted to continue on his way, but the man raised his arms. “I can lead you there. I was on the way there anyway, and together we can reach it faster than each of us on his own. I know a few shortcuts, and the fighting skills of you and your followers will keep the forest's monstrosities at bay.” Richard stretched out his right hand.  
“Good,” Orell agreed to the offer and shook the hand.  
  
“Master, I don't think you should trust this guy so easily.”  
Indeed, Orell didn't. Richard de Valette appeared more than a bit fishy to him. The way he dressed and his equipment might look like proper attire for traversing the Infected Forest, but Orell had seen his share of archaeologists from the academy. Most of them were old and adverse to travelling, while the young archaeology students were treated by their older colleagues like chambermaids, only fed small tidbits of knowledge in exchange for their toil, while the grey eminences enjoyed their free servants.   
Richard looked like neither, he was tall and muscular, not somebody who sat bent over old scriptures or cleaned out elderly men's chamberpots. Orell suspected he had nothing to do with the academy, but was rather out to 'save' those artefacts by either selling them off to the highest-bidding collector or by decorating his own cabinets to impress some ladies.  
For now, they were following the overgrown path in the other direction Orell originally had planned to go, much to Gnarl's annoyance. The advisor had been quite upset when it was announced Nakireen wouldn't be visited, arguing that an Overlord needed to establish his presence in a place and to out-impose any shiny sun-worshippers before the elves decided to tell them their original plan to dispose of the Overlord was unsuccessful, but Orell said this would be a waste of time now he knew where the paladins were to find and that it is better when the elves in the village don't know about his whereabouts at all.   
After Orell made it clear he was not discussing Nakireen's conquest any longer, Gnarl had changed the topic to their latest encounter. “Matthi-Nel is marked on even our most outdated maps, together with the positions of the Gate network I could easily direct you to your destination. You don't need him.”  
Orell had fallen back to be able to talk to Gnarl. “You have heard him yourself. Richard knows some shortcuts which are not marked on any of your maps.”  
“That is not the issue, Master. A lone, helpful wanderer in the middle of a dangerous forest is never a good sign. One of your predecessors ran into such a person, a young, unassuming she-brat, and that one turned out to be a werewolf!”  
“Yes, that's why I'm careful, Gnarl,” Orell explained while making a hand gesture at the Minions currently between him and Richard. He had given them a mental command to keep watch on the adventurer.  
Orell didn't trust him. Even without resorting to Gnarl's less-than-useful suggestions, they could have parted their ways on the place they met, since he was given a destination. He agreed to Richard's suggestion because he was glad to have non-Minion company again. Being surrounded by Minions day and night simply wasn't healthy. Orell suspected it was their violence and impulsiveness rubbing off on him that led to the events in the Sarul-Ras settlement. Having more human company would hopefully bring him back on track again; it was worth the risk of having a shady travel companion.  
  
After one day in the cage, Snubbly's mood hadn't brightened in the slightest. While the stench didn't bother him any more, most likely because he had no sense of smell left, he was tired and incredibly bored. The mold outbreak had haunted him in his dreams, giving him little time to sleep. Schlump seemed to feel the same way, his face a deep frown and his claws digging into the wood and bones of his cage repeatedly.  
Minions weren't meant to be kept like this.  
A rat came out from between the dark-green vines growing all over the rocks in the upper part of the Barracks the Greens claimed as their home, cautiously sniffing the air. Snubbly reached for a loose rock outside the cage and threw it at the rat. He hit one of the bars, the rock ricocheting off and hitting him in the face. The rat escaped with a surprised squeak into the foliage nearby. Schlump pointed at him with a finger and laughed, Snubbly responding to his laughter by baring his teeth.   
The Green came back again, this time carrying roasted rats on sticks. He handed a stick to Snubbly and sat down in front of the cage. Snubbly glared at the Minion while he ate one of the rats, getting more of his expecting grin in return.   
“Name's Nipper,” the Green tried to introduce himself.  
“Go away,” Snubbly responded.  
  
The path was soon left and they were walking among the tangles of the snakin g trees again. Greens and wolf riders were scouting the area ahead, always ready to change direction when Orell mentally informed them.  
Despite his claims, it didn't appear to Orell that Richard was someone who has been in the Infected Forest as often as his words made him believe. The adventurer walked with his sword drawn, often whacking at vines and tangles which could easily be walked around. Travelling with Richard was very different from travelling with Yerael; where the late elven guide weaved around obstacles and avoided leaving any unnecessary tracks, the adventurer preferred to mold his surroundings according to his preferences rather than the other way around.  
“Don't you think it would be easier to just step over that vine rather than cutting it?” Orell said as the adventurer was hacking away at an elastic, rubbery twiner. “It's slowing us down, you know.”  
“You won't believe how often that has saved me,” Richard replied, but at least he let his sword sink. “when some monster comes, thinking it has found an easy meal, I can just leg it and run along the path I created and am away before it has realized what it saw.”  
“Or you just avoid attracting the monsters by making sounds and leaving the smell of damaged plants for them to follow. You're not alone any more, one narrow path isn't suitable for an escape.”  
“I guess you're right,” Richard said with one of his disarming smiles, “I'm not alone any more.”  
From then on, the adventurer avoided obstacles rather than going through them, but he still sometimes caught himself lifting his sword to cut a vine or too inquisitive plant-animal tentacle. He was now walking behind Orell most of the time, who was more apt at finding the easiest way through the coils and tangles of the plants, but even there the utter disgust he graced the glowing pillbugs on the trunks or the worms winding themselves through the moss on the ground with didn't go past Orell.  
They paused during midday for a lunch break when Orell found some familiar fruit. Richard was first sceptical and abasing about Orell's choice of food, preferring to dramatically pull several strips of dried meat and hard cheese from his backpack.   
Curiosity won over tradition in the end; Richard agreed to try one of the fruit and gave Orell some of his rations in exchange, who ate the cheese and stowed the meat away for later. This was probably the first piece of cheese in a year, he recalled.  
Despite Richard's initial behaviour, they remained spared by the Infected Forest's creatures.   
At least, initially.  
The Minions scouting ahead were able to deal with most problems by themselves, bringing an orb of lifeforce of their kill with a big grin plastered over their face before returning to their posts. The bigger creatures were spotted in advance and avoided completely. One Red had the misfortune of being bitten after stepping onto a caterpillar-like viper and Orell's foot got viciously attacked by a spiky beetle, neither of which having consequences due to the former being quickly treated by a Green and the latter's metal boot deflecting all the spines and snapping mandibles the beetle threw against it. Something large bellowed in the distance and occasionally, the stench of the slug-like creatures wafted through the air.  
Then the scouts started to report sounds following them. First Orell dismissed those reports as a change in the forest's fauna, as the terrain became more rocky and the trees less dense, but then he started to hear them himself. Mostly chirps and cackles, but sometimes he believed hearing the crying of children, bell-like laughter or a sound like breaking glass. And the sounds were definitely following them.  
Whatever was making these sounds, it always stayed out of sight. It seemed to be everywhere, in the front, to the sides, behind and even above their heads. Heads of men and Minions shot here and there, but their eyes always fell on empty branches, patches of moss or unassuming pillbugs, the sources of the sound always seemingly having vanished before the sound faded away.  
“These things are making me insane,” Richard muttered under his breath.   
“Annoying things,” one of the Reds agreed. Everyone was on their edge, weapons drawn if they were present and the Reds ready to throw their sputtering fireballs. But the chittering, cackling and whining continued to come from invisible sources, it just progressively got louder, closer and more numerous. It didn't take long until the first Minion lashed out at a bush.  
“Do something, Master,” Gnarl begged over the link. “Throw sticks, set the trees on fire, just  _make it stop_ ! I'm already contemplating to ask Quaver for a song, just to drown these soundly strumpets out!”  
“Show yourself!” Orell shouted into the canopy above. The sounds stopped for a few moments, but then continued, no less loud than before. He was as fed up with the noisy creatures as the Minions.   
“Shut uuup!” one of said Minions yelled, flinging a rotten branch in the direction of a chittering whistle. Orell barely stopped a Red flinging his fireball into the same direction with a mental command. Another mental command called all the Minions to attention and made them cluster around their master.  
“I know how annoying these things are, but refrain from getting angry and shouting,” he told the hissing and growling horde. “That's probably what these creatures want, to draw the attention of bigger creatures to us. Be silent, stay close and hurry.”  
With this, Orell increased his pace, Richard and the Minions following. “Richard, do you know any cave entrances close by?”  
“No,” the adventurer panted, “but there's a tree titan grove nearby. There the wretched little beasts can't hide as easily.”  
“Bad idea,” Orell said, remembering the Sarul-Ras. “What if the creatures are invisible?”  
“Uh, then it's...” the adventurer looked at his compass, “that direction, uphill. A few smaller caves, probably narrow enough to keep anything bigger than a cow out.”  
“How far?”  
“A two hour walk, all things considered.”  
Orell cursed his luck, but changed into the direction Richard had pointed. The terrain went uphill first until Orell's legs felt like burning, then the ground began to descend and the forest got significantly more dense again.   
“This is crap, Richard. Couldn't you find a path that's less overgrown?”  
“I'm trying!” Richard called out while shaking a vine off his leg. The noisy creatures, noticing their quarry's slower progress, started to grow ever louder and moving faster, chittering, shrieking and cackling, making one expect they would soon start attacking themselves.  
But from one moment to another, the creatures fell dead silent.  
“What...” Orell hissed and all of them stopped, looking around and their weapons drawn. Gnarl meanwhile had other things on his mind.  
“Finally!  _Finally_ ! By the River Queen's sacred bosom, they have  _finally_ shut up. No, Quaver, No! Put that drum down!”  
Richard was the first one to relax.   
“Well,” he said, leaning against a rock, completely overgrown with greyish, stringy moss and cocking his eyebrow in a way authors of penny dreadfuls tended to describe their designated love interests, “sounds like the beasts have given up their chase.”  
A deep and very annoyed rumble came as a reply from the rock, which made Richard jump back from surprise. Then the rock rose from the ground and slowly turned around.  
“On the good side,” Gnarl commented the sight, “it didn't get any uglier from the Infected Forest's exposure. Nothing is uglier than a troll.”  
Snapping several vines by these slow, simple movements, the mutated troll gave those standing before him a good look. A pair of tiny, bloodshot eyes stared out of a face that looked like a cross between a pimply teenager from the harbour district crossed with an exceptionally ugly bulldog, with bulging cheekbones and huge, loose lips over protruding jaws. Most of his body was covered by a shaggy fur full of algae and the patches of skin not covered by it were grey and cracked like rock. His legs were still the same short, pillar-like legs of a regular troll, but the arms were now long enough to have the hands drag over the ground as he had turned.  
The troll seemingly didn't like what he was seeing and responded with a loud roar, sending a storm of spit into the faces of everyone standing before him. Then he pounded both his fists into the ground. The Minions scattered in all directions, most running, some flying. To their luck, everyone was fast enough to avoid being hit by the troll directly.  
“Master, attack that troll from behind!”   
A mental command directed the running Minions around the lumbering beast and onto his back, where the claws of both Browns and Greens found easy grips in the troll's fur. The troll roared again and tried to get the Minions off his back, but even his elongated arms were not able to reach around his massive shoulder hump.  
Still, the Minions' attack proved to be ineffective. As easy as it was to climb that troll, as tough was his hide. All weapons, regardless if it were pointy daggers or heavy-bladed axes, slid or bounced off. Not able to reach the Minions, the troll began to jump up and down, letting both Minions and parts of their gear rain down.  
With the troll distracted, Orell, Richard and the rest of the Minions threw themselves into the battle. The Minions hacked away at the troll's toes in hope of having to deal with thinner skin there while Orell targeted the right thigh. Richard hacked away at the other leg, but even a pair of sharpened swords couldn't draw blood.   
The troll stopped flailing and jumping for a moment, lifted his overly-long arms and roared.  
“Away!” Gnarl shouted. Orell forwarded Gnarl's command to Richard and the Minions, the last of which still able to cling to the troll's back jumping off and running. A moment later, the troll jumped forward to land on his belly, but he got entangled in the vines before he hit the ground.  
Orell used the creature's misfortune to send several Greens at his face. The swift Minions began to stab at the troll's eyes, lips and ears, while Browns targeted his gut hanging a metre above ground. They were called back when the troll roared and flailed, tearing down twiners and flinging them around like whips.   
As the beast saw that his actions didn't only free him but also created more space to move, he began to tear at the surrounding plants with a triumphant howl, completely ignoring the Minions that had jumped on his back again.  
“Gnarl! Do you have any ideas how to deal with this troll?”  
“Keep hitting!”  
Holding back a curse, Orell slashed at the legs of the troll again, targeting the hollows of the knee this time. And indeed, a heavy strike did leave a streak of red behind. The troll didn't seem to react to it. Or maybe he did, but in a way Orell would have neither predicted or wished for.   
The troll shifted his stance, his loincloth suddenly billowed out and the sounds of the battle were drowned out by the deep booming of a monstrous fart.  
Positioned behind the troll as he was, Orell was nearly blown off his feet by the gust of gas. An eye-watering stench so terrible every Green in the Barracks would smell like a rose garden in comparison filled the air, making all Minions drop off the troll's back coughing and hacking, or in the Greens' case, laughing.  
“Aargh, noo! I'm going to  _aargh_ !” resounded in Orell's helmet, followed by the rapidly-decreasing sound of claws hitting the ground.  
“Retreat!” he shouted as soon as he could think clearly again. Both the Minions as well as Richard, who was slightly green in the face from the stench, quickly obliged.  
As soon as everyone was out of the troll's blast radius, Orell put the Reds, which were standing a distance away with their flames waiting, to use.  
Like he predicted, the Reds' fireballs set the gas around the troll ablaze and the gloom of the forest was replaced by the red light coming from a fiery mushroom for a few moments. It had not much effect on the troll, who only got slightly singed, but the air suddenly catching fire had made the beast stop in his tracks.  
Using these few moments, Orell launched the Minions on the troll again before joining them, keeping himself strictly at the troll's front this time. The reoccurring and more and more violent assaults were still having little effect, save from making the troll angrier. He swatted his arms like mad at the Greens on his head, never quite hitting, jumped and stomped to shake off the Browns, which just jumped back as soon as they fell off. Orell was slashing at the troll's belly, focusing both on hitting the wobbling gut as well as on evading the troll's kicking legs.   
His work was slowly bearing fruit; while the troll's stony skin could easily withstand one slash or two, attacking a single area repeatedly could eat through the tough hide and the flesh beneath was easier to deal with.   
All of a sudden, something hit him from the right with such a force he was sent to the ground. The attack also spun him around, giving him a good view of the troll's fist pounding into the ground at the very place Orell was standing just a moment earlier – and Richard, who had pushed him out of the way. The troll let out a pained shriek and lifted his arm to look at it, and the blood dripping out of a wound close to the wrist. Richard's sword was also covered in troll blood, as well as held in an upwards angle and the pommel rested against a rock as an abutment.  
“Use the troll's own strength against him,” the adventurer overshouted the troll's howling.  
The Minions who saw this made copious use of Richard's approach by stabbing the troll in the armpits and making him impale his own arms whenever he lashed out backwards. Canis and Sap, the latter of which had picked up a sharpened stick lost by one of the Browns, darted around on their mounts' backs, leaving out no opportunity to bury their weapons' tips in the troll's flesh every time he moved his legs. Orell and Richard focused on the long, flailing arms.  
It didn't take long for the troll to bleed from multiple stab wounds, new ones opening at nearly every movement. He let out a long pained howl and with strength no one thought he could still muster, he vaulted over the two mens' heads and ran away, leaving splintered branches and fallen-off Minions in his wake.   
Richard ran straight after him.  
“Come back and fight, foul beast!”  
Orell briefly shook his head at the scene and ran after him. “Stop it, that troll is not a problem any more!”  
It was easy to lose sight inside the dense tangles, but the path the troll had ripped through the plants left an easy track to follow. Orell noticed how the forest seemed to get ever denser, until he suddenly had to shield his eyes from the brightly glaring sun.  
The troll had fled into a clearing, created when one of the firetrees had fallen. The jagged base of its massive trunk stood in the middle, its glowing patches extinguished, its heart silent. The rest of the trunk lay facing away from him, creating a vast valley in the Infected Forest's sheet-like canopy. The fast-growing plants were already in the process of retaking the opened space, as numerous saplings and leaf-covered roots were already forming a chest-high new layer in their race for the sun.   
Orell needed a few moments to orient himself. The position of the troll revealed itself to him by the beast's roaring and Richard's angry shouting. Shielding his eyes, he could make out a dark silhouette on the highest bit of the still-standing part of the firetree, roaring and chucking broken-off pieces of the firetree's bark and wood down at Richard, who easily avoided the debris while sending an equal amount of taunts and insults back.  
“Come down, you foul coward! I can wait here until you have torn your hideout to the size of a execution block, so I can execute you right on it!”  
“Richard, stop it! You're just wasting our time!” Orell tried to overshout the angry adventurer.  
Richard briefly took his attention off the troll. “Look at what he has done. Look!” He pointed at his hair, or rather the big green glob of slime stuck in it.  
“And that's the reason you ran after that troll? Do you expect him to lick it off you as a compensation?”  
Richard wanted to shout something back, but a loud roar and another chunk of black bark hurled by the troll interrupted him.  
A louder, piercing screech answered the troll, and both men looked up. Two brown spotted shapes appeared in the sky, heading straight for the troll, who was now flinging the wooden chunks at his new attackers. Orell couldn't make out what the fast-moving flying creatures circling the troll were, but they reminded him of featherless owls with bulging red eyes and moth wings.   
The creatures were swift flyers and they cooperated. The angered troll missed them with each throw, and any time he threw a piece of wood at one of the creatures, the other swooped down to rake the troll's back with its claws.  
“Retreat, damn it,” Orell shouted at the adventurer, who was still cursing at the troll. “Those flying things will avenge your hair already!”  
Richard looked up for a few moments, then his eyes widened.  
He got away from the tree trunk just in time; one of the flying creatures managed to hit the already weakened troll hard enough to make him lose his footing and fall off the trunk, shrieking all the way down. The shriek abruptly ended on impact and the two flyers immediately dove after him.  
“That was close,” Richard commented. “Well, at least I didn't have to beat my sword notchy on that beast's stubborn hide any more.”  
“Oh no, it wasn't the flyers. It was you who killed the beast, Master.”  
“Welcome back, Gnarl.”  
“Don't mind me, Sire. I only needed a few moments to get that infernal stench out of my nostrils. Don't worry, Grime was keeping watch on you.”  
“Sure he did.”  
“Too bad about all that lifeforce going to waste. Maybe if you could-”  
“No. We have wasted enough time on that troll already.”  
  
They decided not to track back to the place they met the troll to avoid  the noisy, unseen creatures that had led them there. Since Richard had no trouble to orient himself,  as he could see the sun in the clearing, they crossed half of it first before they were underneath the Infected Forest's canopy again.   
Since it was nearing evening and since Gnarl didn't seem like he wanted to stop complaining about the troll's uncollected lifeforce, Orell allowed the Minions to pick off any smaller creatures they encountered, something they happily obliged to. It was also a fitting reward for them, as all of the Minions survived the troll fight with only minor injuries at most.  
“Lively little creatures,” Richard commented when another Red appeared with a burnt, unidentifiable creature slung over his shoulder and a glowing yellow orb in hand. “Where did you find them?”  
“They found me, actually.”  
“Hm? Care to elaborate?”  
Orell gave the adventurer a short look. Richard might have saved his life during the fight against the troll... but he didn't look like someone who could keep a secret. Aurenthuria mustn't know his true identity, not as long as they were people in power who could use it against him and throw a stake through the rolling wheels of his endeavour.  
“I was collecting firewood at dusk and fell down a small chasm I haven't seen. As I was calling for help, they were those glowing eyes staring down on me. And then, a rough-woven rope fell on my shoulder.”  
“Really?” Richard let out a laugh. “I have heard of people meeting those creatures. They were usually found as rags and smashed-up bones later, if they were lucky. The less lucky ones... well you probably heard of Lucia van Ellenberg.”  
“Frankly said, I don't know either what happened in the chasm back then,” Orell said. “They must have seen something in me. Something that set me apart from the others. Or maybe it's just the fact that they aren't skewered on paladin swords the moment they are seen in central Nordberg, so they didn't adapt a 'kill first, ask questions later' policy there.”  
“Central Nordberg, so? Your accent doesn't sound Nordbergian at all. I would have rather guessed you hail from Alsemark or Greenvale.”  
“That is correct, I do come from Alsemark originally.”  
“And yet, you moved into the middle of nowhere?”  
“The climate is nice there.”  
“Hmm.”  
Finally, Richard stopped poking around in Orell's made-up past. A number of noble families from Alsemark had moved to Nordberg for precisely the same reason Orell had given, although most of them returned barely a year later, fed up with the frequent rain and the boorish natives. Those which stayed usually vanished out of the public eye of the Golden City completely, since Bloodsheep had preferred to run things on his own rather than relying on the support of Alsemark.  
One of the Browns appeared from the underbrush, carrying a glowing orb in his hands.  
“For the Master,” he said, presenting the sphere with an excited grin, but both his and Orell's head shot to the side when angry hissing and a slimy bark resounded behind the cover of snaking trees.  
Orell bolted through the foliage to see what was going on, scaring a number of plant-animals to retreat into their tubes.  
The hissing and the barks came from a green and brown tangle rolling around on the moss between long-stalked mushrooms. Most of the tangle was a bulky, short-legged creature that might have been a pig or boar once, but now was covered in warty plates and bore its eyes on long stalks. Its oversized jaws with protruding teeth were clamped shut around the arm of a madly hissing Green whose hooked foot claws were raking across the creature's wide throat. Orell recognized the Minion as Wellsy, the Greens' horde leader.  
Orell swiftly drew his sword and let it fall down onto the creature's neck. The blade went in less than two finger breadth deep due to the thick hide, but it was enough to make the creature let go of Wellsy and run away. The Green, too angry to pay attention to his bloodied arm, jumped up as well and was about to run after the creature. Focusing on Wellsy alone, Orell sent a mental command to stop, which made the Minion nearly fall over. He shook, frozen in place still hissing and staring into the direction the creature he had fought with went.  
“Wellsy,  _stop this crap_ .”  
“Master, need to prove myself, need to make up for-”  
Orell grabbed the Minion by the shoulder, in a way he could easily change his grip to be around Wellsy's neck, should he not listen.  
“There is no need for this. I do not blame you for what happened in the Barracks and it can't be undone. All you do now is putting yourself into unnecessary risk, so cut it, understood? If you still continue and let yourself get killed that way, I am not going to resurrect you.”  
Wellsy shrunk under his master's gaze, his ears sinking down further and further when he heard those words. They continued to sink after Orell had stopped talking, then Wellsy lowered his eyes as well, before he gave a small nod.  
“Won't happen again.”  
“What was going on?” Richard asked. He, along with several Minions, had followed the sounds of the fight as well.  
“Nothing of importance,” Orell replied and got up. “We should get back on track.”  
  
The rest of the day was calm, devoid of encounters of dangerous fauna or more examples of Wellsy seeking redemption. At early evening, Richard stopped following his compass and searched for a good place to pitch camp. Orell offered him to spend the night in the security of the Netherworld instead, but the adventurer insisted on spending the night outside, so they searched for a campsite together. Not much later, the darkness of an abandoned animal burrow was driven away by the crackling flames of a campfire.  
“And you are sure those are edible?” Richard sceptically looked at the spindle-shaped tubers roasting above the flames.  
“As you can see, I am still alive.” Orell was sitting to the left, scratching dried troll snot out of his helmet's crevices. Half of the Minions were lounging inside the burrow as well, the other half was outside, close to the entrance. They had had ample opportunity to gather food on the way and didn't bother with cooking, noisily scarfing down their various catches raw and whole instead.  
“I still wonder how you found out. There is just that one unassuming leaf visible above ground.”  
“I didn't, my previous guide did. He knew way more about this forest than I ever would.”  
“Knew? Does that mean he...”  
“Died, yes. The Sarul-Ras killed him.”  
“My condolences,” the adventurer replied. “Those mutated elves are truly a blight. But at least you still have your little friends there.”  
With a metal claw on the fingertips of his gauntlet, Orell dislodged a particularly stubborn chunk of snot, which flew across the burrow.  
“You said those creatures have found you in a chasm,” Richard picked the conversation up again. “But where did  _they_ come from? I have never heard of groups this big or being made up of three different kinds.”  
“They came from different places.”  
“Just like that? One pack of them accepting you as a friend might sound odd, but I have seen travelling circuses having tamed ones with them. But having tamed several packs sounds incredible.”  
Having dislodged the last large pieces of filth, Orell scrubbed the helmet down with a piece of moss. “As said, they saw something in me. And once one group accepted me, the others followed without much hassle.”  
“So, theoretically... a circus clown tasked with training them could just go out in the field and sweep up every of these creatures up once encountered?”  
“Maybe.” Orell threw the used piece of moss away and reached for a fresh chunk.  
“I wonder where you found all of them. These creatures are pretty rare where I live.”  
“What, do you plan to tame a pack of your own?”   
“Maybe.” Richard gave him a cocky smile. “But honestly. In what kind of environments did you encounter them?”  
Orell didn't reply straight away; he was just done with cleaning his helmet and checked the crevices for any remains of troll snot stuck there. As he brought the helmet close to his eyes, he noticed a rhythmic vibrating sound coming from inside.  
“Just wait a moment,” he said and put the helmet on. Then he visibly stiffened up.  
“What's the matter?” Richard asked, noticing Orell's reaction.  
“Something happened at my home place which I really need to take care of. I'm afraid we will have to have this conversation another time.”  T he moment Orell was halfway out, the earth began to shake and close to the burrow's entrance there was a sound not dissimilar to an avalanche. The Minions tensely looked at their master going outside, then a flash of blue light briefly illuminated their faces. 

After a moment or an eternity spent in the void between, Orell had solid Netherworld rock underneath his boots again.   
He had left both the Minions and Richard behind in the burrow; the former he could trust with not misbehaving in his absence, all of them had spent some of their time in the forest already and were unlikely to get the attention of any dangerous creatures by being unnecessarily loud or chasing after small animals. The latter... the latter had saved his life. He should stop worrying about that shady adventurer. But if Richard did have any sinister plans after all, there were more than enough Minions left to stop him.   
“This way, Master,” Gnarl gesticulated into the direction of the throne.  
“Does anyone know how this happened?”  
“Unfortunately, no. But if her babbling is to be trusted, she got in through the Minion Gates, somehow. I'm sure she will sing once dangling above the Abyss.”  
The moment Orell sat down on the throne, the trespasser was brought in by two of the guard Minions. As absurd as the situation he found himself in was, the sight still surprised him. The figure ushered in was was an elf in the Infected Forest's typical attire, looking not older than eighteen years of age. Despite her arms being tied behind her back and the guards making generous use of their halberds to prod her back, there was nothing but wonder on her face as she looked everywhere, all but devouring the scenery. She continued to stare when the guards forced her down onto her knees in the middle of the teleporter's pit.  
“Now tell me,” Orell leaned forwards, “who are you, and what were you doing in the Barracks?”  
It seemed as only now the elf noticed him. “My... my name is Saphelia. I am a student of malozoology. I was doing some fieldwork in the Infected Forest, stationed at Nakireen. A wonderful place, but nevertheless, as soon as I saw you there, accompanied by so many Minions, I  _had_ to follow. They have always interested me way more than trolls or salamanders or anything else the malozoologists study, mostly because there is so little known about them.”  
“As I told, this is obviously a spy, Sire, and not a very good one,” Gnarl commented next to the throne.   
Orell didn't pay much attention to Gnarl's words. He had heard of this rather odd branch of naturalists, mostly in the form of punch lines in jokes. They were known to be at odd ends with Aurenthuria's policies regarding their study objects, but were considered harmless because of their low numbers.  
“A malozoology student you say... tell me, how did you enter the Barracks?”  
“Through one of the gates for the Minions, when no one was looking.”  
“Elaborate.”  
“I chose the brown one,” the elf explained. “It resisted first when I tried to stick my hand into it, so I experimented around a bit and it let me through when I adjusted my signature to that of a Minion with magic. Then I jumped in and found their Barracks by following my nose.”  
“Does anyone among your professors or fellow students know how to get through the Netherworld Gates?”  
“I don't think so, there's only three other people I know who study Minions, and all of them focus on the best ways of their extermination.” Saphelia ended the sentence with such a disgust one could assume the words had turned into stinkbugs in her mouth.  
Hearing this, Orell became a bit less tense. While it was good to hear it was unlikely any Aurenthurians would figure out how to use the Gate system to enter the Netherworld, he should inform Grubby to retract the Gates back into the earth every time neither him nor the Minions were close.  
“I humbly request, Great Lord, let me stay and study your Minions.”  
Orell looked at her for several seconds, not sure what to make out of her rather unusual request.  
“Let's assume I let you stay. What will you do?”  
“Don't be silly, Sire, it's better to give her over to the Abyss before she slinks out and tells the treacherous elves, the paladins or whoever has hired her every single secret and and detail of the Netherworld, your troops and your plans.”  
“I will...” Saphelia looked at Orell with elation, her eyes glazing over as she got lost in thought. “I will share anything I find out about your Minions. Whenever I discover something that will make them more efficient at doing your bidding I will tell. I could help them at some of their tasks in their caves. And if you allow, I could make some tests, like trying out what kind of foods they like the most or what keeps parasites out of their dwellings.”  
Orell raised an eyebrow. “There are parasites in the Minions' homes?”  
“Yes, most venerable Lord. There's at least three different species of mites and one broadlouse in the brown ones' dwellings alone. I wasn't able to examine the other species' homes yet.”  
“Well then, I allow you to stay. However, you are forbidden from leaving the Barracks for now and will always stay under surveillance. You two, escort her back, and tell the others she's there with my permission and mustn't be harassed.”  
“Thank you, Great One!”  
As the two guards followed Saphelia, who was completely unfazed by being told she was now pretty much a prisoner of the Netherworld and almost running into the direction of the floating rock that connected the tower of the Netherworld with the Barracks, Gnarl got Orell's attention again. His face was speaking volumes. “Master, I tell you, it is highly unwise to let that pointy-eared subject run around so close to you. We had spent decades,  _decades_ to find a suitable candidate for the Overlord position, it would be a shame to lose him to a dagger in the throat during the night or to an enemy always being a step ahead because of a direct line of information to your plans.”  
“Gnarl, I can tell you in return that she is not a spy, but exactly that what she has told me.”  
“And what makes you so sure of that, Sire?”  
“A malozoologist, studying in the Infected Forest, entering the Barracks just to get a better look at the Minions... do you really think an actual spy would make up a story  _that_ absurd?”  
  
Against Gnarl's appeals and after running some errands, Orell decided to spend the night in the Infected Forest with the Minions and his new friend. To his relief, neither had tried to kill the other in his absence and no creature had decided to examine the burrow, either.  
Inside, the fire had died down to glimmering embers and more than a half of the Minions were lying curled up against the walls and sleeping. Richard was awake and spent his time with meticulously sharpening his sword.  
“Good to see you back,” he said, raising his head. “Seems it wasn't that big of a matter, if you are back already. So, what happened?”  
“We had an unexpected visitor,” Orell said after he sat down close to the embers and took one of the skewered tubers that had been roasting above the flames when he had to leave. “But that one had been dealt with.”  
“I hope it wasn't what I think it sounded like was.”  
“No, just someone asking for an occupation and me accepting.”  
“Hmm.”  
Orell silently ate the tubers while Richard continued to sharpen his sword.  Was he planning to shave himself with it in the morning? Just as Orell thought this, the adventurer put the whetstone away and examined the blade in the fading light of the embers.   
“It's best we go to rest now, I prefer to start early tomorrow. It's the best time to avoid the wretched creatures of this forest. Are your little friends able to keep watch?”  
  
Saphelia couldn't help but look down. The flying boulder with its flattened top, which this strange place used as a mean of transport, was fast and swaying dangerously, but she couldn't help but kneel on all fours at its edge and look down into the fiery depths, watching how the numerous lava streams and rivers vanished into a steaming abyss.  
The master of all Minions had accepted her.  
She had been aware of the danger, from the moment she jumped through the Minion portal and followed the winding tunnels to their lair. Every malozoologist has to be aware of the danger their study objects posed. If the Minions had killed her on the spot the moment they had discovered her hiding inside an abandoned hut, if their master had decided her transgression was something to be punished by death, she would have accepted her fate.  
But against all odds, their master had accepted her and given her permission to conduct her research for a price she was more than willing to pay.  
The ride over the abyss ended as quickly as it started when the boulder docked at the wall riddled with the caves the Minions had declared their home. The two Minions accompanying her gestured her to get off the boulder, but at least they stopped prodding her back with those halberds they carried. Once they were standing on solid ground, one of the large guards grabbed another, smaller Minion by the neck and and told him what to do in a few sentences, before they got onto the boulder again and were carried off, leaving a very confused and unhappy-looking Brown in Saphelia's presence.  
“Follow me... me guess,” the Minion said with his ears askew.  
As Saphelia followed the Brown, she tried to see as much of her surroundings as possible, from the paintings and carvings decorating the caves' walls to the piles of refuse accumulating in the places that were seldomly walked.  
“What do you call these caves?”  
The Minion's ear slightly turned towards her direction. “These our Barracks”, he said, a bit of pride swinging in his words.  
“Such an impressive place,” the elf muttered, wondering why they had given this place such an underwhelming name.   
“Think so? But bad place for elfies, no plants here,” the Brown snickered. “Up there, Greens have lots of plants.”  
Saphelia looked in the direction the Minion had pointed at, but there was nothing but the cave's ceiling to be seen. She needed to explore this cave system further later.  
The Brown led her to a series of huts, where he pointed at a very run-down one. “Heard Footrot had one full of lice. He dead now, so won't complain.”   
The Brown walked a few steps back, then sat down before another hut's door.  
Excited, Saphelia crouched down and looked inside. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom inside, she could make out several clubs and daggers hung up on the painted walls along several furs and skulls, a large, battered log and a pile of filthy cloth that probably served as bedding. She briefly smiled at the sight, pondering about how the Minion had lived here, then crawled inside and returned with pieces of the rank cloth to examine them for parasites under better light conditions. As exciting as the huts interiors were, studying their culture would be something for later. Saphelia had work to do.  
  
Richard did keep his word about starting early. It was  probably still dark above the Infected Forest's canopy when the adventurer was up and awake, robbing the sleep of both Orell and the grumbling Minions.   
In typical early morning fashion of the Infected Forest, the air was dense with thick mist.  
“Are you sure this is the right weather to continue to Matthi-Nel, Sire? You wouldn't notice bumping into a mutated troll before you are halfway up in its arse,” Gnarl drowsily remarked through the Shroud.  
“Yes. The creatures of the forest are just as blind as we are and you don't have to worry, I can tell the difference between a path  among the trees and a troll's posterior, thank you very much.” Raising his voice, Orell addressed the adventurer. “Can you navigate through this soup?”  
“That's not a problem,” Richard smiled widely and showed his compass, “I have this.”  
“Now that is reassuring,” Gnarl commented, unheard by the person his words were directed at.  
They progressed slowly at first. While the dense mist effectively obscured them and kept the predators away, this wasn't true for a whole other problem. Richard was more often stumbling than walking, his feet being constantly caught in root tangles or sinking into burrows hidden underneath the moss. Orell, who stumbled and slipped on occasion himself, was surprised how poorly the adventurer fared, considering it was him who suggested using the morning mist to move quickly and unseen. It appeared like Richard would have usually waited for the mist to clear and only did this to impress, which was now backfiring. Or fortune was favouring fools, if that was really the way he traversed the forest and still hadn't been eaten yet.  
To his luck, the mist cleared early and they had several hours of morning time to walk without any of the larger creatures bothering them. This wasn't true for the smaller creatures; all kinds of insects, some of them the size of chickens, were accompanying them. Especially the Greens were attended by swarms of shimmering flies, forcing them to regularly shake off the pests and make them rise in multicoloured clouds.  
Thanks to the insects, the Minions were already fed when they took a lunch break of glowing blue fruit. Richard was as sceptical about them as Orell had been when Yerael had introduced him to the fruit, but turned out to like them so much he took several with him for later.  
Progress was slower on the rest of the day, when the larger creatures became active. Orell had exchanged a good part of the horde for mounted Browns and Greens more accustomed to the forest at midday, a decision that came in handy later. The wolves' keen sense of smell allowed them to avoid the trails used by the forest's creatures and the senses of the spiders could register the actual creatures close by, while their teeth and silk made most of the fights against creatures too fast or too well-hidden to be avoided in advance much easier than with Minions alone.   
As the night came closer, they had to look for a place to spend it, as Richard still refused to come to the Netherworld.  
“What is the matter with you and wanting to spend the night in a forest where even the plants can eat you?” Orell asked while looking underneath a promising shrub, the burrow in it turning out to end after one metre.  
“Oh, it's not the place that bothers me,” came the answer behind several winding, creaking tree trunks. “I would be happy to walk to it, take a carriage or even ride one of those owl monsters from yesterday to reach it. But teleporting?”   
“What's the matter with teleporting? I use it every day with no ill effects.”  
A huff came from behind the trunks. “That's what someone I knew very well told me, too. Before that one day something went wrong. You know, it does have adverse effects on a six-year-old child to see their father step into a portal and only the front half of their body making it actually through. Getting eaten by plants sounds like a much better fate compared to that.”  
“I'm sorry, I didn't know that,” Orell replied hastily. “My condolences.”  
“No prob- oh, looks like this root cave is the right size!”  
Orell and most of the Minions were standing right in front of the cave a few seconds later. One of the Browns tentatively peeked inside – and jumped back with a yell, followed by a flat, bumpy head with sparse bushels of hair and long, protruding teeth. The teeth snapped shut right before the Brown's chest as he got just out of reach of the creature's long, armoured neck.   
Before the creature could further push its body out of the root cave, Orell slashed against its head, leaving only a superficial cut on the bony skin. But it did get the creature's attention.  
“I am the one you should try to bite!” Orell shouted at the beast. The creature turned its head, snarled... and made a surprised jerk when Richard's sword sank into its neck from the other side, into the exposed soft skin between the bony plates. The adventurer yanked the sword out and thrust it into a different gap until the creature collapsed with a gurgling croak.  
“Damn, this is an ugly one,” Richard commented while tearing some moss off a nearby trunk to wipe off his sword.  
“Seems to be some kind of a rodent,” Orell said, mentally commanding some of the stronger-looking Browns to drag the body out of the root cave's entrance. Gnarl informed him this was most likely a hamster, to Orell it looked more like a vole. It didn't matter to him what this creature had been once. Fighting it just with his Minions would have taken longer and probably cost some lives, too. But working together with Richard allowed him to be so much more efficient, they made an excellent team. If Orell would be able to find more men like him, he would be able to take on Aurenthuria without having to use the Minions at all.  
  
With nothing to do, time had blended into a monotonous sludge for Snubbly. The only distraction he got was when Nipper brought food, and that Green was annoying him. He didn't want to talk to Schlump, either, as his reactions to Snubbly were pretty much the same as Snubbly's reactions to Nipper.  
Snubbly tried to spend most of his time sleeping, to make the time pass faster. He still had the nightmares, but he felt like he would die from boredom otherwise. With his back to Schlump's cage, he had only an overgrown rock pillar and several twisted bushes facing him without any Minions walking past being distracting.  
Schlump growled and hissed in his cage and Snubbly could hear him gnawing on the bars again.  
“Shut up, Schlump,” he growled.  
Schlump did shut up and Snubbly was glad to have gotten the silence necessary to drift back to sleep, but the silence also made him hear something all too familiar. Schlump's breathing was laboured and creaking, just like Cribble's before-  
Snubbly shot up and spun around, looking at the other caged Minion. Two unfocused, glazed-over eyes were staring back at him. The other thing Snubbly registered was that while he had been sleeping, Schlump had managed to gnaw through two bars and was nearly done with a third.  
Enough for him to squeeze out of his cage.  
Snubbly yelped in a panic, pushing himself against the rear side of the cage to put as much space between himself and Schlump, who was growling, clawing in Snubbly's direction and biting into the bar again. Seemingly ignoring the pain, if he was even able to register it any more, he bit down hard enough to break several teeth, his blood mixing with the saliva flowing out of his mouth.   
“Schlump, no!”  
The bar gave away and Schlump immediately wound himself out and crashed into Snubbly's cage. He growled and creaked while trying to reach the captured Minion, who was now screaming in a panic and pushing himself against the bars on the opposite side. Snubbly had to fight his desire to attack the grabbing claws, but even in his panic he knew that touching Schlump could let him end up just like this. In his madness, Schlump pushed harder against the cage to reach his quarry, pressing hard enough against the cage that the bars were creaking.  
Snubbly wasn't able to retreat further. Schlump's claws raked the air centimetres away from his chest. All of a sudden, the claws were torn out of the gaps between the bars when something barrel l ed into Schlump's right side, throwing him to the ground. The scheme hissed viciously as it tore Schlump's neck open with its claws, putting him out of his misery. The infected blood poured on the overgrown ground, where it was quickly sucked up by the carpet of moss. Only when Snubbly took his eyes off the stream of blood and looked at his saviour, he recognized what, or rather who, killed Schlump.  
“You okay, Brownie?” Nipper asked with genuine worry on his face.  
Snubbly looked down on himself. No scratches there. However, there was a lot of drool clinging to the bars at the front and he feared some of it might have sprayed on his skin when Schlump had reached inside. But what he felt even stronger than fear was guilt, the guilt that he had been so abrasive to the Green who had cared for him all the time and in the end, saved him.  
“Call me Snubbly. Any place to bathe here?”  
  
During the third day of their collective travels the terrain started t o change; there were boulders of jagged rock poking out of the moss and lichen layer first, but soon the landscape began to appear like someone had smashed a plate of stone and then arranged the fragments in a way all of them had their tops at a different height. Orell and Richard were climbing the twiners and snaking tree trunks up and down almost as often as they were walking.  
Early in the fourth day the landscape had become easier to traverse again. They had entered a part of the forest where the bedrock was softer and more porous, eroding into bizarre shapes reminiscent of the fungal forest sections with the space in between still being irregular and covered in loose rock, but at least allowing them to walk without having to climb. The change also brought the dreaded jagged mineral back which Orell had hoped not to see again – mandelite.  
First there were only small chunks of purplish spikes sticking out of the light grey rock, but they didn't have to walk long until the chunks became bigger than ship crates.  
“I hoped I wouldn't have to see that glorified urinary stone ever again,” Gnarl sighed.  
“That's quite a lot of it,” Orell remarked.  
Curious, Richard looked back. “Hm? What do you mean?”  
“Those purple rocks. They have messed up my Gates once.”  
“Well, then I will have to warn you. There's even more of them in the shortcut.”  
“What kind of shortcut is it?”  
“A cave system. Leads straight underneath those rock formations, which get bigger ahead. You can bet the paladins took the way around them, because their magic gets messed up in the rocks' presence, too. On the good side, it seems like the forest's monstrosities don't like the place, either, so we can pass through the caves in a timely manner.”  
_I really hope you will keep what you will promise_ , Orell thought. Creatures or not, it was the mandelite that was worrying him. Even if Gnarl made the Minions reinforce the Gates and told him they would be able to dig through mandelite-rich ground, Orell didn't want to take any chances to risk being stranded in the Infected Forest once more. Especially not with the paladins being so close by.  
  
Bruise looked at Saphelia with his ears askew and with a slightly horrified expression. He was one of the Browns that were assigned to keep watch on her; all three of them hated their work and were the happiest when their shift ended, but Saphelia was glad the reason was their boredom rather than animosity towards her. Once she tried to explain the differences between ticks and broadlice to Pimples to alleviate his boredom, with little success. Bruise was the only one of the three who showed any interest in what she was doing, but upon hearing her request, even his enthusiasm  completely evaporated .  
“I do need those plants,” Saphelia repeated. “They are the only thing that can get the sulphur-spot mites out of your walls. Do you want to have sulphur-spot mites sucking your blood at night, maybe infecting you with nasty diseases, too?”  
“But... Greens' place so smelly.”  
“It can't be that horrible if you put Minions into quarantine up there. Besides, I am only doing what your master said. Your master wanted me to get rid of the parasites, he will probably not be pleased if the parasites are still there when he comes back.”  
The disgust on Bruise's face was replaced by fear and he hastily nodded.  
Saphelia grinned behind his back; while she was officially busy with studying the Minions' parasites right now, the Minions themselves had offered her a lot of insights in the few days and one of them was their reverence bordering on worship for their Overlord.  
Bruise led her deeper into the Barracks, away from the glow of the enormous cavern where the Dark Tower hung, into tunnels where crude torches and the occasional stream of lava were the only light sources. More Minions lived there, ate, slept, created gear, built new dwellings and passed her curious and confused glances. Two Minions were busy at a wall, painting it with rough brushes made from chewed-on twigs or their bare fingers and adding to the numerous paintings already present. Unfortunately, Saphelia's eyes were not working nearly as good in the dark as a Minion's, all she could see of most of the wall paintings were barely discernible s ilhouettes .  
She was amazed at how big the Barracks were. They encountered huts and Minions regularly, but wide stretches of the caverns were uninhabited, used to dump trash at most. It was easy to imagine the section reserved for the Browns alone could hold thousands of Minions. Saphelia wondered how big it truly was.  
The surroundings only began to change gradually. First it sloped down and became ever wetter until the walls were glistening with water and slime before it opened into a large cavern with a roiling underground river flowing along its hind wall. Bruise led her along the stream before he entered a side passage.  
From there, it went steeply upward. First they climbed over rocks which weren't covered only by slime but also with dark green, stringy algae.  S oon the algae were replaced by moss that sometimes carpeted the entire tunnel. More plants joined the ensemble, first ferns and clubmoss, then vines wound through the tunnels, aiding them greatly in moving further when the caves became too steep  to walk.   
When they finally reached the section of the Green Minions pr oper, Saphelia was out of breath, pausing to take in the scenery. It was like a part of the long-gone Evernight forest had been transplanted into these caves; moss, lichen and algae covered the floors, walls and ceilings alike, interrupted by ferns, fungi, crawling vines and stranger things. There were only few places where the oily shine of the underlying rock was visible. The many plants had attracted a lot of insects, which she could see crawling in the moss or drifting through the air in swarms.  
Insects weren't the only thing filling the air, though. It was thick with a rotting, suffocating stink, reminding Saphelia of a dead mountain troll that had been lying for a week in water on the canicular days. She pulled her collar over her nose to lessen the stench, while Bruise was visibly gagging when he told her he would be waiting at the steep tunnel's entrance for her.  
Trying not to breathe in too deeply, Saphelia moved forwards alone, until she encountered a Green.  
Before the Overlord had come to the Infected Forest, Saphelia had only the luck to encounter dead specimens, and most of the time they were not even complete. She could have stayed in Alsemark for that, since the Minions there were also encountered dead and incomplete, courtesy to the paladins and sometimes the enraged peasants. The Infected Forest had been her best chance to see a live one, but she didn't quite consider how good at hiding the resident Minions were. The elves living there had tales about a horde of very vicious Greens terrorizing the central parts of the forest, attacking people in broad daylight. Saphelia had been about to move there to at least catch a glimpse of them. To her luck, a much better opportunity had arisen just a few days before she would have left Nakireen.  
The Green was staring at her, both curious and nervous. Even in a live specimen it was evident they were a more basal branch than the Browns; heavy-tailed, covered in overlapping, keeled scales and with feet adapted more to climbing than to running.  
“What kind of plants grow here?” Saphelia asked the Minion once she stopped gazing at him. “Any nettles?”  
Instead of responding, the Green stepped back and hissed softly.  
_Right_ , Saphelia thought,  _he likely doesn't know who I am_ . “Your master sent me, I need those plants to get rid of the mites in the Browns' huts.”  
The Minion relaxed, but still looked warily at her. “Don't know, need to search yourself.”  
“Will you at least accompany me?” Saphelia asked. “I want to make sure the others know I'm here on your master's order.”  
  
“By the Abyss Serpent's blasted bollocks...”  
Orell stared at the scenery in front him in disbelief. He had expected the amount of mandelite to increase, but Richard had clearly understated it in his description. The rock formations had become pure mandelite, masses of twisted purple strands that looked like gigantic petrified squids half-buried in the ground. But those were nothing in comparison to the formation he could see ahead, on the other shore of the turbulent river that had carved its way around the cliffs. It was like a dense forest made entirely of mandelite, with some actual plants winding themselves around the rock strands.  
“Indeed, Master,” Gnarl said. “Worse yet, that river doesn't look like your Minions will be able to follow you.”  
“What do you suggest, then? Take some time and build a bridge?”  
“A bridge?” Richard chimed in. “For what do you want to build a bridge, or rather,  _from_ what?”  
Orell looked around for a moment. The snaking trees were high up and most of the vegetation growing between the mandelite rocks were bulbous plant-animals licking the air with thin tendrils. The only plants in reach that would be halfways usable for building a bridge were the vines growing in between the mandelite strands, the danger of impaling oneself on the strands while getting the vines out was too high.  
Just as Orell wanted to repeat his question to Gnarl, he heard a familiar rumbling and three Minion Gates dug themselves from the ground.  
“Gnarl, are you crazy? If those Gates would have become jammed, all these Minions would be as stuck as back then- wait, do you tell me to send them home and go through the caves alone?”  
“Why, didn't Princess Goldilocks tell you the caves are avoided by the forest's monstrosities? If he can survive going through them alone, adding your superior proficiency in swordfighting will make that trip a cakewalk.”   
Orell rubbed his neck. “Well... I guess I have no choice but to take the risk.”   
He gave the Minions a mental command to retreat, which they hastily followed, both mount and Minion vanishing in the twitching Gates, which immediately sunk back down when the last Minion vanished.  
The water of the river was unexpectedly cold and twirling so erratically in potholes and around protruding rocks that it was a challenge for Orell and Richard to reach the other shore. He was glad to have left the Minions behind, as nothing short of an actual bridge would have allowed them to cross the stream without any casualties.  
Behind the river the mandelite formation was towering over them, a twisted forest within a twisted forest.   
“You better keep your 'friend' walking where you can see him, Sire,” Gnarl remarked. The transmission was hard to understand; it seemed like the enormous amounts of magical rock were messing with the Shroud's functions. “With no Minions to aid you, you have to be extra careful.”  
“He could have slit my throat days ago if he were my enemy,” Orell whispered back.  
Richard, who luckily remained out of earshot, entered the mandelite thicket and Orell had to hurry to catch up. The mandelite curved over them and after maybe twenty metres there was a wall of the purple material, with an oddly round hole that served as the entrance to the cave system Richard wanted to traverse.  
“You will have to feel the way ahead for a bit, but there's glowing fungi a bit deeper inside,” the adventurer said when he entered the hole and was immediately swallowed by darkness. Orell followed him inside, a hand on the wall and treading carefully. Gnarl said something, but all that reached Orell's ears was an indiscernible hissing.  
  
The Dark Tower had been looking impressive when seen from the distance of the Barracks, but nearing it on top of a speeding, flying boulder made the view all the more awe-inspiring. Saphelia's eyes were fixated on the enormous, hollowed-out stalagtite with its jagged annexes and the streams of water and lava flowing off it, joined by a blindingly white beam of energy emitted by its crown in their descent. The flying boulder described a wide curve on its way to the Tower, giving her an even better view of the magnificent structure. It slowed shortly before docking on the balcony that led directly to the throne room.  
Saphelia stepped off the wobbly boulder and headed straight for the centre of the throne room, Bruise and Ant in tow. There she would find the one Minion who was running the entire domain. She only hoped he would be willing to interrupt his very important task for her in comparison trivial problem of acquiring herbs.  
Gnarl was standing in the middle of the room with his back facing the balcony, in front of the depression in which he and his Overlord  had been interrogating her a few days ago. Whatever he was doing, it didn't make him particularly happy, judging by his shouting and cursing. He was so transfixed on his task that he didn't notice when Saphelia stopped right next to him, peering at his focus of anger.  
The pit was open, showing a bizarre image. It was mostly dark with some green and red blurry blotches and a dark blotch moving in the middle, but it was highly distorted, as if seen through water, and light flashes made the image hard to make out. While the scene looked like a portal, it was evident to her this was an illusion.  
“Master, can you hear me? Answer, Sire! Damn Infected Forest and its petrified fairy shit deposits...”  
Saphelia tried to get the old Minion's attention. “Gnarl?”  
“Master, it's really hard to understand, could you... Again!? May that guano-guzzling excuse of a god who created mandelite be violated by infernal weevils in the deepest pit of the Abyss, and  _what do you want_ ?” he furiously shouted at Saphelia after she had tried to address him several times.  
“I need nettles. Or hops, if you have any.”  
“Pff. We don't brew any beer, we steal it. Besides, I doubt you can make anything drinkable,  _elf_ .”  
“Not for beer. It's to get the mites out of the Brown Minions' dwellings.”  
“Who cares, no Minion had complained about mites so far.”  
“The Master cares, as he had given me the task of getting rid of any parasites in the Barracks, as you probably remember.”  
Gnarl looked at her sideways for a few seconds. “I will send out a number of Minions to collect nettles in Nordberg. Later. I have more important matters to attend to right now. Start working, you stupid Shroud!”  
Gnarl had all but forgotten about her in a few seconds afterwards. With nothing else to do, Saphelia looked at the transmitted image as well, trying to make out what was happening behind all that magical noise.  
  
As Richard had promised, they didn't have to walk long through absolute darkness. Slimy nets glowing with red or green colours were covering the mandelite walls, providing little but sufficient light. The tunnel had a gentle slope, leading deeper and deeper into the earth, still consisting of mandelite. Just how big was this formation?  
All the time, the Shroud was hissing and sputtering in its attempts to transfer Gnarl's words. Orell assumed it would be one of his usual remarks about the scenery, and if there was a truly urgent matter like the Aurenthurian army drilling its way down into the Netherworld, he wouldn't be able to reach it in time anyway, since he doubted the Gates would work in a place where even the Shroud was failing.  
“Just how long are those tunnels?” Despite having no need to do that, Orell traced the wall with a hand. Compared to the usual bizarre shapes of mandelite, the tunnel was oddly smooth, reminding him of the lava caves he had retrieved the Red Hive from.  
“Oh, they're quite a walk, but luckily it's nearly impossible to get lost. There are hardly any intersections to worry about,” was the answer from ahead. The tunnel's shape distorted Richard's voice in strange ways, making it sometimes sound too loud or too quiet.   
The voices had spooked several bats into flying past their heads. Minionless as he was, Orell hoped those bats were the largest inhabitants of the tunnels; while he trusted Richard on his words, the shape of the tunnels looked too unnatural to him.  
To his luck, Richard's words remained true. They were probably walking the tunnels for hours, and while they did encounter creatures larger than the bats, they all seemed to be harmless. There were the omnipresent glowing pillbugs, but of a distinct kind, with a thinner body and long, spindly legs they used to feel the way ahead, and deeper in the tunnels warty, flattened slugs were grazing patterns into the luminescent slime covering the walls.   
Remembering the much more diverse fauna of the sacred caves he had crossed to escape the Sarul-Ras, Orell got quickly bored of looking at the walls and a headache that had developed from a weak pressure in his head that had started soon after he was inside the mandelite tunnels made it harder about thinking how to progress or planning his further steps.   
“How did you discover these tunnels?” he tried to start a conversation with the adventurer.  
“Purely by accident,” Richard answered with some pride. “Stopped by in an elven village, heard of these enormous mandelite deposits and then I just had to see them with my own eyes. So I stare at the formations in awe and wonder, when I notice a hole in one of them. I looked a bit around until I spotted a hole big enough to fit through and went inside for a bit of spelunking, dreaming of big, pretty crystals I could bring back to the academy later. Unfortunately, I didn't find any crystals, but I did discover a way to pass through the crags more quickly and reach some well-hidden elven ruins beyond them. Look, now we are beneath the mountain.”  
Glancing at the walls, Orell could see that they were not only surrounded by pure mandelite any more but a dark, jagged type of rock interspersed the walls.   
All of a sudden, the walls receded and the tunnel opened into a large cavern full of stalagtites and whatever the other structures were called.  T he slimy strands, a reddish leathery type of moss and bright blue worms covering the structures  were  illuminating the cavern, making it unexpectedly bright. Small midges floated through the air, adding their bright flashes of yellow light they emitted in specific patterns. Orell stopped in his tracks and admired the view.  
“...glued-together... contraption! Ah,... have an... Master, can... me?” the Shroud cracked back to life, slightly ruining the magnificence of the moment.  
  
Saphelia couldn't tell how long she had been standing and staring at the pit; she had shifted her position several times and still her legs had become stiff and numb. It was unlikely Gnarl would mind her going back to the Barracks and wait for the nettles there, but the pit was fascinating her.   
Saphelia had heard of spells to see places far away or enchanted items allowing communication with people being on the other side of the continent. She had even seen one such item, a hand mirror that allowed its owner to look through any other mirror in its proximity, but none of the spells and items she heard about were as powerful as this device. Despite the transmission being currently highly distorted, the pit showed a very large image, transferred sound in a way that it could be heard from everywhere rather than just from the device itself and it even transmitted smell.  
Judging by the distinctive mixture of wet clay, ammonia and ozone that spread from the pit into the throne room, the device was transmitting perceptions from one of the famed mandelite caves of the Infected Forest, places Saphelia would have loved to visit herself, so she strained her eyes to make out the place's appearance through the distorted transmission.   
What she could make out was that the device transmitted the perceptions of a person directly. She couldn't tell if that person was the Overlord or a Minion walking directly behind him – she could recognize the dark blotch she saw in the middle of the image for most of the time as the silhouette of a person against the illuminated cave walls, but no details. Maybe she would be able to hear out what was happening inside the cave amid the white noise of the transmission, but Gnarl's shouting and swearing at the pit made that pretty much impossible.  
“Stupid thing! If we would still have the Tower Heart, I could have an image clear as day and wouldn't have to use this made-of-cowpats-glued-together-with-snot contraption!”  
All of a sudden, the distortion was gone and the picture in the pit stabilized.  
“Ah, I have an image! Master, can you hear me?”  
Not paying attention to the Overlord's choppy reply, Saphelia marveled at the sight the pit showed. The mandelite cave looked incredible. She didn't recall to have seen so many luminescent plants and animals in one spot and the stone structures growing there were all but breathtaking.  
The silhouette she had seen was more clearly visible, too, showing a person in cobbled-together armour, which meant the transmitting device was worn by the Overlord. The figure looked awfully familiar.  
The man turned around and walked out of sight, briefly showing his face and making Saphelia gasp in shock.  
“Gnarl!” she shouted at the advisor repeatedly, who was still trying to communicate with his master and completely ignored her presence.  
“What is it!?” he finally spun around furiously, glaring at her as if he would throw her into the pit at any moment.  
“That man by his side, he's a paladin!”  
  
Orell pressed a hand against his helmet in a futile attempt to make the transmission from the Shroud clearer. “What did you say?”  
“I have to excuse myself for a few moments,” Richard said. “My bladder is killing me.”  
Orell gave him a brief wave to tell him he understood, then focused on the Shroud again. “Gnarl, I don't understand.”  
There was no answer at first, but he could make out a woman's voice talking, followed by Gnarl shouting something at him, but this time it sounded frantic rather than angry.  
“Turn... Sire! Not the... to be... traitorous... don't care... find... immediately!”  
“What should I find, Gnarl?”  
The Shroud crackled and fizzed, before it suddenly stabilized and sent a clear message from the Netherworld.  
“Watch out for Richard, he is a-”  
Whatever Gnarl wanted to say, Orell couldn't hear it among the ringing of his helmet when something heavy hit it from behind.  
  
As Orell came to his senses, he noticed he was leaning against a wall, still in the cavern. Glad to not having ended in a Sarul-Ras camp again, he couldn't help but note that getting knocked out by hits on the back of the head was becoming a rather common experience.  
Shaking his head, he could make out Richard in front of him.  
“Agh, what happened... did a loose rock hit me?”  
Richard smirked, then broke out in a laugh. It sounded oddly mocking and malicious. “Oh, so you still haven't understood?”  
Only now Orell noticed that the structures he first took as upside-down stalagtites were in fact bars, rusted and as thick as his lower arm.  
“What... what is the meaning of this, Richard?”  
The adventurer chuckled again.   
“Well, my 'friend', our ways unfortunately have to part here. There are just too many moral conflicts between the two of us. You know, when I introduced myself as a member of the Golden City's academy to you, saving forgotten treasures from decay, I wasn't telling quite the truth.”  
“He is a paladin, Master! This piss-princess is a sphincter-scrubbing  _paladin_ who took you for a ride good and proper!” Gnarl shouted in his ear.  
“What?” Orell couldn't believe what he had just heard. Richard's persona, his friendship, their mutual experience... all of it had been a lie?  
“Of course, I could tell you about the 'whats' and 'whys', but unfortunately, I have to hurry back to the gleam of the sun, to atone for all those lies I told. Like when I said the caves here are free of dangerous creatures. The creatures living here are  _very_ dangerous,” Richard said while producing a small package from his backpack. He shook its contents, an odorous powder, out on the ground in front of the cage.  
“So, you are going to Matthi-Nel,” Orell hissed through his teeth, “or was that a lie, too?”  
“Nice try, but since you will meet your demise here either way, I can tell you that yes, that was a lie. I am going to Arith-Nar, in fact. You can call this information a thank-you for your help in reaching this place. But alas, I have to hurry. I don't want to disturb the home-owner's lunch, after all.”  
The lying bastard slunk off into one of the side caves, chuckling all the way and left Orell alone in the cavern.   
“This... this... Master, I can't even find a proper word for this vile furuncle ooze from a troll's diseased buttcrack! See if you can get out of this shabby chicken coop and then after that treacherous tapeworm!”  
Still ap p alled by the recent turn of events, Orell examined the cage for weak points. The hinges of the door were out of reach because of an upside-down stalagtite blocking the way, but the bars looked so rusted in some places that he might be able to break them. Since Richard had taken away his sword, Orell picked up a stone from the ground and started hammering it against a particularly dilapidated section close to the ground.  
It was the gurgling rumble that informed him of the creature's presence when he briefly stopped to get a better grip on the rock. It was an enormous, warty worm that slithered nearly silently over the cavern's floor, moving its head left and right while its hind body was still inside one of the round tunnels, filling it out completely. Its antennae were quivering and a long, snake-like tongue flicked out of its mouth, surely in search for the powder Richard had strewn in front of the cage.  
Orell hammered faster against the bar, cursing when he beat through the rust and saw intact metal underneath.  
“Get lost, you disgusting creature!” Orell shouted at the approaching worm. He hit the bars with the rock again, further up in an attempt to make as much noise as possible to drive the creature away. It didn't seem to react to the sound at all, still following its probing tongue.  
Out of other options, Orell hurled the rock at the worm's head when it came close enough. The only chance he had now was to drive the creature away. He picked up another rock and searched for a vulnerable-looking place on its head, which the worm briefly shook after the first hit.  
More cautious, the worm flicked out its tongue again, probing the air inside the cage. Orell aimed at the appendage with the stone, but missed and hit a bar with a loud clang instead.   
Since it was sure where its prey was now, the worm's tongue went into the cage again, but rather than searching, it cut through the air like a whip. While Orell could avoid the brunt of the attack by jumping back, the tip touched his breastplate, its teeth leaving a row of scratches in the steel. The creature crept closer and repositioned its head, forcing Orell to retreat further until he had the cavern's wall against his back. He threw the rock he held at the worms head, which made the creature barely flinch this time.  
The worm opened its mouth to strike again and Orell prepared to drop on the floor to avoid the attack, but the attack never came. Instead, the worm turned around and reared up to face a second creature, another worm with a stubbier appearance and two rows of short, multi-clawed legs running down its underside. The creature emitted a low, clattering chitter, then threw itself against the snake-worm, flinging itself and its adversary away from the cage towards the middle of the cave.  
Surprised, Orell couldn't help but stare at the two creatures raging in the cavern for a few moments until Gnarl snapped him out of his stupor.  
“Master, this is not the right time for watching giant monsters fight! Grab a rock and get working!” Orell hurried to follow the advice, his hits against the bar barely audible among the hissing, chittering and the sound of massive bodies hitting rock and each other.  
The barbed tongue of the snake-worm left behind bloody gashes on the claw-worm's hide as the shorter, thicker creature tried to pin its opponent down with its many legs and tear a hole in its body with the blade-like jaws protruding from its mouth. The snake-worm wound itself out of the claw-worm's grip and threw itself on top the claw-worm but hastily retreated when the milling claws scratched its side. It reared its head up, ready to strike, when the claw-worm suddenly shot two strings of slime at the snake-worm, hitting the fresh wounds its claws had just left in its side.  
Thrashing in pain, the snake-worm's tail whipped through the air and hit the cage's bars, shattering them like dry twigs.  
Orell, who hadn't paid any attention to the fight during his attempts to break through the rusted bars, got the air knocked out of his lungs when one of the thick metal rods slammed into his side. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled up and dashed out of the cavern, into the tunnel he had seen Richard vanish into.   
It was nearly impossible to get lost in them. That's what the liar had said, but since Orell had been crossing one of the tunnels himself, he could account for these words being true. The tunnel was shaking from the fight of the worms inside the cavern and it was painful to breathe, but Orell moved as fast as he could. Not to catch up with with the bastard paladin, he was simply not sure if the tunnels would be able to withstand the battle raging behind.   
As he saw the blue light of plant-animals from the outside amid the green and yellow of the cave slime, Orell briefly leaned against the cave's wall to catch a breath.   
Then he let out a stream of curses that even Gnarl made an appreciating comment on them.  
He was the biggest idiot that had ever donned the amber gem. Rather than listening to Gnarl and letting that suspicious man encountered in the forest under suspicious circumstances where he was, he had just blindly trusted him, running after him like a lamb that was led to the slaughterhouse and only made it out alive because of sheer luck attracting more than one guest to the dinner table Richard had prepared.  
Why? Because that disguised paladin said a few nice things to him? Because after snapping in the Sarul-Ras camp he had the feeling to make amends for the world? Because being surrounded by Minions all the time made him yearn for human contact?  
Orell picked himself off the wall and walked outside. It was a mistake to trust this man. It was a mistake to trust men. He would never do this again. Everything he had done in the past days was a mistake.  
Taking a few pained breaths of the moldy air outside, Orell smirked.  
Not everything was a mistake. He finally had the name of the place where the paladins had gathered. 


	18. Acts of deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, where Orell and Saphelia go on a merry round of paladin trolling, Richard has an encounter with something pretending to be the raptors from Jurassic Park 2 and a mysterious figure watches them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as usual, reviews and critique help me with improving my writing.

The lift densely covered in snaking trees was the perfect place to observe the activities happening in Arith-Nar.  
The space in between and around the remains of the white stone buildings had been cleared of vegetation, both normal and mutated, and allowed a good view of the tents, sheds leaning against the deteriorating walls, piles of equipment and the men tending to them. It was not a particularly big encampment, but the wooden buildings were witnesses of the place having been used previously by the paladins.  
With the help of Gnarl and his maps of Evernight, Orell had arrived at the encampment a few days after having been double-crossed by one of the paladins pretending to be a helpful adventurer. Despite having checked several times, the characteristic blonde locks remained unseen. Maybe the forest's creatures had gotten the treacherous bastard, but Orell hoped he was alive and just too late.  
He wanted to end Richard's life personally.  
A part of him was itching to summon Gates and let the encampment be overrun by Minions, checking the corpses later for the traitor. But what good will that do in the long term? The Infected Forest was known to be deadly and it was likely the paladins were prepared for such an outcome, just sending another regiment into the forest and continuing their work with even more fervour to have it burned.  
And such hasty action would possibly endanger his life and certainly result in a lot of killed Minions. Orell estimated there were well over ten stars of paladins present, accompanied by at least the same number of men and a few women that weren't part of the order; servants, apprentice boys, but also hired fighters. Even with all Minions from the Barracks participating in the fight, this amount of opponents would punch a large hole into the numbers of Orell's troops. If he would want to take them all down, he would have to separate them into smaller portions first.  
A soft hissing to his left took his attention off these thoughts. Blot had returned from scouting the camp proper and gave a brief report on what he had seen and heard there. Most of it was uninteresting banter and talks about supply management, but one bit interested him and he asked the Green to elaborate.  
“Said wanted to start in two days. Talked about starting with small village nearby first. Also talked about grand finale or something,” Blot explained.  
“Did they mention any names? Directions?”  
“Libki... Lebri... something.” Blot answered with his ears askew.   
“Damn. Gnarl, is the Possession Stone coming along?” Once again, Orell wished he would be able to just use this handy Netherworld device and eavesdrop on the paladins himself, without having a forgetful Minion as an intermediary.  
“The last time I had asked, Grubby told it is coming along well. Grime, go and inquire about its current state!”  
“And while Grime is away, can you look up on your maps if there's a place marked with anything sounding close enough to what Blot told?”  
The rustling of parchment was heard. “Let me see... Batkal, Lakralis, probably not. Le'erithia, that one sounds promising. Blot, is that the name you had heard, you granny-eared germ gobbet?”  
Blot's face lit up and Orell knew it was the correct place before the Green confirmed it.  
“Sire, I estimate the trip to that place would take two days, give or take one. On one hand, the armour would slow the paladins down, on the other hand, these machines would speed up travelling through a forest significantly,” Gnarl told, referring to the brazen machines folded up underneath a spanned-up plane. Orell was surprised to see so many of them; they must have been the reason for him to severely underestimate the speed the paladins reached their new encampment.  
Where do you want to place the Gate, Master?” the advisor continued.   
Orell thought for a moment. “About an hour's walk away from the village, on the side opposite to where the paladins will most likely enter.”  
“Ah, a surprise attack?”  
“No, something different, but needing planning and preparation nonetheless, so it's best I start with it as soon as possible to have everything set up when the paladins arrive.”  
“Very well, Sire. Grime, go and tell- hm, I've sent him away already. Well, it won't do any harm for that lazy lug to run around a little.”  
Orell could only imagine what kind of rude gestures Grime would throw at the back of Gnarl's head this time.  
  
While Orell walked off the lift towards the Gate hidden in between several plant-animals a small distance away, he was being observed by someone else in return. Hidden away among the epiphytes generously covering the snaking tree trunks about ten metres off the ground a pair of eyes was following every movement and a pair of keen ears snapped up everything that had been said.   
In response to this, two mouth corners had curled up into a devious grin.   
  
“Sire, should I get the Minions to prepare for battle and Giblet to start building the siege machines?” Gnarl greeted Orell right after the latter had stepped off the portal.  
“Giblet already has a task,” Orell sourly replied, still angry about Richard taking his sword. He was using a temporary replacement from the corpse pit again, but since the number of Browns had grown in the Barracks and the corpses stripped off their unneeded possessions, it was a rattly, notched specimen with a disintegrating handle and rust stains even a quick workover with a whetstone by Giblet couldn't grind off. It was better to avoid any direct conflict for the time being while a replacement was made, leaving the fighting to the Minions.  
“Besides,” Orell continued, “I have a different plan. One that won't need armies or siege machines.”  
Gnarl gave him a sceptical look and couldn't hide his eye roll completely. “And what might that plan be, Master?”  
Orell told him, and the initial scepticism of Gnarl vanished and was gradually replaced by a wide, toothy grin. “That is a _great_ idea, Sire. Nevertheless, this will need preparations that better be started right away.”   
  
The first step of his plan required Orell to visit the Barracks. The way he wanted to approach the paladin problem was a mere idea taking shape in his head right now, but it required the aid of someone being familiar with the Infected Forest's inhabitants.  
Nobody in the Netherworld knew the elves as well as Saphelia did.  
He had trusted her as far as he could throw her at first. While he didn't share Gnarl's suspicion of her being an Aurenthurian spy, the fact she had gotten into the Barracks so easily had worried him. However, she had tried to warn him of Richard's true nature, even if the warning came too late to act on it.  
The Brown he had ordered to lead him to the elf took to the right and after a number of tunnels arrived at a small space with several huts, some of them looking quite run down.  
“See? All gone. And the decoction isn't hard to make. Just get more nettles, and some pots you don't need any more,” Saphelia said to a Brown sitting next to her, both of them examining a piece of roughly-woven, filthy cloth. Their backs were turned to the direction of the tunnel Orell and the leading Brown had emerged from.   
“May I interrupt?” Orell asked. Both the elf and the Minion turned their heads at the same time, the former looking surprised, the latter elated.  
“Most tributary greetings, Lord,” Saphelia quickly exclaimed, stumbling over her own words in her quick reply. “The parasites aren't quite gone yet, I've tested it only in this hut so far, but I have good results already, just give me a few more days.”  
“I'm not here because of the parasites,” Orell replied. Upon seeing her tense up, he quickly added, “I need your knowledge of the elves living in the Infected Forest. You see, there is a regiment of paladins in the forest right now, gathering to drive the elves out so they can torch the place down. Of course, I can just run in with horns bellowing and blades swinging, but that would be quite risky and cost not just a few Minion lives, not speaking of it being essentially futile if the order decides to send out more paladins. Therefore, I've planned to set up the elves against the paladins, by making the order look as terrible as possible in their eyes. It will not only halt their efforts in moving the elves, but also make them lose their support and making them easier to take out later. So I want to know what deeds the resident elves would see as horrid enough to become utterly disinterested in following the paladins out, like provoking them into an attack, for example.”  
As he spoke, Orell carefully observed Saphelia's reactions. By the many face expressions she had shown, he was certain she would do her best in aiding him without her having to state it.  
“Oh well, you would certainly not get them riled by provoking the paladins into killing them. Every elf is expecting getting killed every day and every night, they have quit their lives the moment they were born. So... well, some of them would certainly not want to lose their livelihood, and whatever the paladins might be telling them about why they want them to move, telling them the truth would be enough. But then again...”   
All of a sudden, the elf's face lit up. “I know! If there is one thing I've learned about the Infected Forest elves is that they can't stand dishonesty!”  
“Well, then I could lean back and and watch the paladins fail from a distance without having anything to do myself,” Orell mused. “Albeit, I bet this is not the first interaction they will have with the elves, so they will likely make it in such a way the elves will only know of their real plans once they are far away from the forest. I will bet on them having come up with a web of lies to lull the elves into false safety, enough to entangle the truth about the paladins burning the forest in between. We will need something different than just convincing the elves of the real plans, something the paladins had not considered at all while weaving their tales...”  
  
The talk with Saphelia took about an hour, and the plan they had devised in the end was nothing short of something a theatre of the Golden City would consider playing.   
If there was one thing the paladins prided themselves for, it was the protection of the populace from evils. Now, if things happened that presented the warriors of the light as more evil than the Infected Forest's fauna they so often took detours for to slaughter, they would lose any shreds of respect the elves held for them in an instant.  
Orell went out to scout the targeted elven village and its surroundings first, then spend the rest of the day with rehearsing their act with Saphelia.  
The elf had offered herself to be a part in the play, and since she was the one with the most profound knowledge of the locals as well as being the most convincing actor he had for the role, Orell couldn't decline her.   
The act also required quite a lot of Minions. The more fortunate were those with a good deal of their armour cobbled together from paladin plate, the less fortunate were those who had to give up mushroom leather parts for Saphelia to be repurposed into authentic-looking Infected Forest elf gear.  
The majority of the second day was passed with more rehearsals, more scouting and a short visit to Nordberg to sort out a few disagreements regarding the storage of copper ore. Further rehearsals and polishing out mistakes in the plan followed on the third and fourth day, alongside the evaluation of information about other paladin stars sent out from Arith-Nar to other villages and sketching out plans of how to deal with those later. At late evening of the fourth day the Minion scouts positioned along the road to the elven village informed Orell about the paladins having set up camp close enough to be able to reach the village tomorrow.  
Now it was time to act.  
  
Elara was the first to notice something was wrong.  
It was in the second half of their guard duty, way past the moment the unseen sun had sunk behind the horizon when she thought she was hearing someone screaming in the forest outside. Cautious and first having warned Mirivel to be alert, she snuck out with an arrow on the string, listening into the thicket.  
It was faint and partially swallowed by the thick moss growing on nearly every surface, but she was sure a high-pitched voice was frantically calling for help. As Elara moved closer to the source, she heard other sounds mixing into the call. There were the voices of men calling and laughing, as well as the... rattling of metal?  
Elara didn't want to get away from the gate any further than she already was, but at the same time, she was intrigued. Someone was clearly in danger, but at the same time it didn't sound like an animal attack.   
Just as she wanted to turn around and get a number of warriors together to check on the strange sounds, something shot out of the underground right at her and Elara was lucky not to have fired an arrow at the scheme, which turned out to be a terrified girl.  
“Help, you must help me! The paladins, they- oh by the Mother Goddess, they slaughtered them all!”  
Elara put her hands on the girl's shoulders, telling her to calm down. At the same time, her own thoughts were swirling, not sure what to make out of what she had just heard.  
“Now, tell me what exactly had happened out there,” she finally asked the girl after bringing her into the confines of the village's walls, where the paladins, or whatever else was chasing her, could be easily beaten back.  
“We were travelling to Matthi-Nel, me and two companions. We had set up our camp close to the road, thinking it would be safe from the forest's animals, but then a group of paladins had passed by and... by the Mother Goddess, only I could escape. I ran deeper into the forest, their laughing and rattling armour was everywhere. I'm so glad to have found you, I'm not sure how long I could have run from them.”  
“Are you sure those were normal paladins? No fungi sprouting on their bodies, no slugs in their heads?” Elara asked.   
“Their armour was polished and they were wearing helmets. They were also talking, I don't remember much, they said something about us being corrupted and that the entire forest is only populated by monsters that need to be brought to the sword.”  
Elara frowned. These were most certainly not infected bodies controlled by fungi or slug puppeteers. But she couldn't exclude the girl having been attacked by blight fairies, a dustweaver or even the dreaded Mirage and her band. “Mirivel, we need to investigate this.”  
As Elara and a squad of elven warriors left the village in search for the attackers, they neither saw nor heard anything unusual any more. But they did encounter deep imprints in the moss with hacked-off branches along their trails. These were most certainly not blight fairies, or any natural creature living in the forest. Mirivel had then found the final evidence for the attackers having been paladins when he pointed towards the corpse of a periket, mauled by several clean cuts to the back but otherwise untouched.  
  
Unexpected visitors arrived the next morning at the gate.  
Ariti put an arrow on the bowstring, but didn't raise the weapon yet. He was asleep when the events of the night had happened, but the night guards had told him everything when they changed shifts.  
They were a group of seven men, one of them dressed in an elaborate tabard, the other six in partial plate armour, all of them holding their sun-adorned helmets under their left arm.  
The gate guards were as displeased about the visitors as Ariti was, but after a warning that the swords had to remain inside their scabbards, they were allowed to enter, already having drawn a sizeable crowd.  
The one in the tabard stepped forward and spoke.  
“Dear populace of Le'erithia, the paladin order of the Golden City greets you and has something important to tell you. As you know, and often had to experience, the Infected Forest is a highly dangerous place. People die every day, eaten by beasts, succumbing to disease or poisoned by the very air. But Aurenthuria is a generous empire; where the forest takes, we will give.”   
Ariti frowned. He had expected either a search warrant for the girl, or even an apology from the speaker, but this... It was like the attack at night was something forgettable they swept under a rug without any care.  
“We have constructed homes just for you, in the bosom of Alsemark next to its forests, which are lush and safe. We generously offer you to come with us, leave this dangerous place behind, which kills your parents and your children, and start a new life in safety.”  
“And where _you_ can kill us as you please instead?” an angry voice shouted from the background. Indeed, the generous offer of the speaker was met with scowls, bared teeth and shaking fists rather than the open eyes and smiles the paladins had expected.   
The speaker was taken aback. “By the sun, no! We only kill what is evil, we would never lay hands on respectable citizens as you!”  
A red-haired elven man stepped out of the group of angered listeners. “You don't? Have you forgotten to tell that to those rampaging last night here, slaughtering everything that moves, not caring if it is evil, a harmless moss-eater or a traveller resting by the road?”  
“I don't... none of us...” the speaker stepped back, closer to the men accompanying him, which looked just as perplexed.  
“Stop pretending you don't know! Your men had attacked a group of three travelling elves last night and killed two of them!” an elder joined. “Your offer is nothing but a lie, to get us out of the confines of our wall and kill us with ease!”   
“Get lost, murderers!”  
More and more voices joined, the upset villagers forming a barrier that slowly pushed the paladins towards the gate. Ariti had raised his bow by now. The moment a hand got close to a sword's hilt he would let go of the string. He lowered the weapon again when a raised hand silenced the masses and Il-Rakha, the village's reeve, parted the mass of angered villagers to speak to the paladins directly.   
“You have heard our answer,” she said sternly. “You are not welcome, your offer is not welcome. We care not if those involved in killing the travellers were acting on their own behalf, defying their commander's orders. Your presence is a danger. Now leave, else it will be your blood that will pay for the deaths of the travellers.”  
Met with such resistance and with no visible possibility to convince the elves of not having anything to do with the deaths they were accused of having caused, the star of paladins had to leave empty-handed.  
The surviving traveller had vanished during the time the villagers were occupied with the paladins. Ariti didn't blame her; having been attacked and lost friends to the paladins, then having them show up in front of the main gate might have sent her running regardless of the paladins' intentions. Of course the elves could track her and return her to the village, but the girl had surely a destination to reach and the biggest danger she could have run into had been sent away into the opposite direction.  
  
Back in the Netherworld, the Minions were roaring with laughter, even Gnarl couldn't fully suppress the occasional chuckle himself.  
“Good work. For an elf, that is,” the elderly Minion said. “Now better get out of the pit.”  
Saphelia stepped out of the depression where the Gate had brought her into and stood between the Minions, which were looking at her with far less annoyance by now.  
Barely a minute later, the spines at the top began to spin, then the pit opened and through the hole in the floor shot a blindingly blue bolt, in which a figure manifested itself. The light died down, the pit closed and the Overlord stepped out of the depression, his posture looking like he was slightly nauseated, but his voice having the same level of elation as the others gathered in the throne room.  
They had driven the paladins away with nothing more than a bit of armour and illusions.   
The paladin chase had been staged by the Overlord and a number of Brown Minions, the latter having worn oversized metal boots to leave the correct shape of tracks and paladin swords they had scavenged after fights to leave the correct shape of cuts. Their task was to run around and cut down any creature they saw, but had to do so in complete silence, while the Overlord was the one doing the shouting, distorting his voice with magic to sound like several people.   
All of them had vanished in their Gates once the Greens had given the signal of elves coming out, while Saphelia played the terrified traveller. Escaping the village was a different matter; she had to wait until the elves' attention had been focused on the paladins, then climbed the wall with aid of the Greens and went through the Gate waiting outside. The Overlord had observed everything from a hiding place outside the village, his magical connection allowing the inhabitants of the Netherworld to watch.  
Gnarl congratulated his master for the well-executed plan.  
“But I fear there is not much time to celebrate, as the paladin group sent to Werikhil will arrive soon. While you still have the option to use brute force against them, as dead paladins don't convince any elves to move out either, you should better hurry if you want to get the elves riled up against them through a similar act. I don't think you should use the same play again, since even the most dimwitted elf will have a suspicion if a traveller under attack runs into every single visited village.”  
  
The following days were spent with other manipulations of the paladins' diplomatic mission. To their luck, Werikhil was a big settlement and no one paid attention when Orell, disguised as an elf, entered the gate shortly before the paladins arrived, and the villagers were quickly riled up against the star when Orell spun his illusion over a boy watching the speech atop a roof, briefly turning him into a slug puppet when none of the elves were watching. One of the paladins noticed the illusion and it didn't take long for them demanding the boy to be brought to them, something the villagers rather violently objected to.  
Karathil-Res was handled mostly with Minions throwing nuts at the paladins from covers, which made them leave in a huff. No one got injured this time, but Orell was sure one or another child had been undeservedly spanked that day.  
Saphelia got involved in Vrakhil-Nar again, when she exchanged her mushroom leather attire for rags and pretended to be an escaped captive of the paladins, with similar results as in Le'erithia.  
The paladins headed to Rashukiran were made to encounter pieces of paladin plate with elven arrows in them, next to charred human bones the Minions had lying around in their Barracks. The situation escalated a bit when they attacked the village out of revenge, which got several elves killed, but in the end their arrows had all found crevices in the paladins' plate armour and the star was wiped out.  
Another star was simply sent home by Greens tampering with their food at night, with a foul-smelling trail going all the way back to Arith-Nar.  
However, not every star was successfully driven off. There were simply too many of them visiting the villages simultaneously and while some of the villages could be handled by the Minions alone, Orell had to be careful to not make it look like the failures were part of a bigger sabotage plan rather than just disconnected mishaps. On the other hand, several villages refused to follow the paladins on their own, either for reasons not having anything to do with Orell's doings, but especially later the atrocities the paladins had supposedly committed in their earlier visits became known through the messages carried by the elves' large moths, which flew much faster than a star of paladins could ever march.   
  
“You are dismissed.”  
Daren Vaeler kept a calm face for the paladin commander giving the report of yet another failure. But as soon as the man had left his tent, Vaeler's face contorted into a grimace of rage and he had to keep himself back from letting this rage out on a piece of the interior's sparse furniture.  
How could this mission go along as awful as this report told, as the reports of previously returning stars told? It was like Punarim had left him when he entered this blasted camp and the Abyss Serpent had taken their fortunes into its foul hands.   
Their offer left nothing to desire; the elves would get out of this dangerous forest and into homes waiting from them on the rolling hills and near the lush, beautiful forests of Alsemark, where no wolves or bears would ever trouble them, let alone the slimy, multilegged mutants and horrid parasites that had cost several of his mens' lives aleady. They would get support from Aurenthuria in their endeavours and a number of elves living in the city or its surroundings had offered themselves to keep the new settlers company, making it for them to adapt to their new lives as easy as possible.   
Yet the paladins sent out to bring them the message returned mostly empty-handed, many of them even reporting to be met with hostility. Some of the stars hadn't returned at all and Vaeler prayed the reason was a run-in with the monsters of the forest and the men had fought valiantly before meeting their ends. That the elves had killed them was just unthinkable.  
The reports of the returning commanders had become more bleak by every day and continuing would just waste time and men. The mission was a failure. Vaeler looked at his working table and his gaze lingered on the two-handed sword leaning against the wood.   
_No, not quite_ , he thought. There was still a way to get the elves out of the forest before it would be sacrificed to the flames. Vaeler sat down to write a number of messages for the paladin stars still being on their futile missions. Those disgusting messenger moths they had gotten from Nakireen and which were accompanying the groups of elves willing to accept Aurenthuria's generous offer would get the messages to their destinations faster and surer than any human man could do.   
At least this foul forest has brought forth something remotely useful for a change.  
  
A distance away, Richard was blissfully unaware of Daren Vaeler's rage. The paladin commander had promoted him back then, when he presented him the Demon Lord's sword as proof of his death. Albeit he was glad the Demon Lord was now being digested by a mandelite worm, that man had turned out to be very useful to him. Without their mutual travels, Richard wouldn't have known to navigate the cursed forest so well, nor would he use his newly-acquired skills to lead his own star through it.  
Vaeler had tasked him personally to go to Aleynak-Ral. It might not be the forest's elven “capital” Matthi-Nel, but it had been one of the most important trading hubs in its better days, with a lot of roads converging there. Confident with his new knowledge, Richard had taken the direct route through the thickets, both because it was faster than going by the winding, dilapidated paths with its upturned cobblestones one could break his ankles on, and because he could shine among his men with the speed and security he would lead them to their destination.   
The third reason speaking for not going to Aleynak-Ral on one of the roads was that it gave Richard's men ample opportunity to purge their chosen path of evil creatures, something they enthusiastically engaged in.  
“I honestly don't know why we do this,” Jonas said while wiping the blood off his sword on a moss-coated trunk. “If the forest gets burned anyway, why not just let the beasts burn with it?”  
“Because,” the frown hidden underneath Bant's helmet was clearly audible in his voice, “a paladin must always be vigilant and ready to fight against evil. If you let your sword dull in your scabbard, your mind will dull likewise.”  
“Still, we could just practice in camp,” Jonas continued. “Slaying those pillbugs sharpens my mind as much as using my sword to cut melons, they're just boring. Why can't we hurry up to Aleymey-whatever and save our swords for something bigger and more exciting to expunge?”  
Bant wanted to reply, but Richard cut him off. “Now, now, calm down, you two. We're making good progress by taking this route rather than following the roads, and by killing those pillbugs we will lay out a nice trail for the bigger, exciting creatures that will flock to us like moths to a flame. Both of you will get what you want.”  
They sheathed their swords and continued on, out of the suffocating confines of the Infected Forest's twisted trees and onto a patch of tall grass, the dew covering it glistening in the light of the stars. Richard paused to look up briefly, then continued on, the other men following behind.   
He didn't quite realize how late it already was; he thought that during his travel with the Demon Lord he had gotten a hang of the day and night cycle under a light-blocking canopy where the major light source was provided by the animals and plants, but apparently he still had his shortcomings in these regards.   
“We cross this meadow and will search for a place for the night on the other side,” he announced to his men, words that were met with elation especially by the three carriers accompanying the star. They went out in the open, leaving trails of trampled grass in their wake. Compared to the forest with its incessant singing, chirping, chittering and grunting, the meadow was eerily silent save for the clanking of armour and the only movement he could see were nocturnal insects and the occasional bat swooping after them. Disgusting creatures...  
A muffled, cut-short scream mixed into the silence and Richard spun around and drew his sword in one single movement. And froze.  
Out of nine, only five men were visible, the other four trails ending abruptly, with the remaining paladins having their swords drawn and their heads following a number of trails in the grass that didn't come from them. The trails were growing as if invisible giants were raking their fingers through the grass. The only surviving carrier ran back into the direction he came from with a scream, but the trail pursuing him was faster.  
Whatever the tall grass was hiding from their eyes, it moved fast and killed quickly. Richard saw Jonas fall with a short yelp barely after turning around and Bertram barely managed to drive away one of the invisible attackers by slashing his sword in the direction of an approaching trail, mowing down a half-circle of the confining plants in front of him.  
“To me!” Richard called out. The three remaining men ran to him, but only Bertram managed to reach him; Bant was taken out when he turned around, with a tail or tentacle briefly whipping through the air he had been a moment before, and Niklas had the poor luck of stumbling over a root, with the two trails converging on the place he fell making sure he would never get up again. Back to back, Richard and Bertram stood in the middle of the meadow, swords ready to strike and their eyes following the moving trails that were circling them like hungry sharks.  
“Show yourselves, foul beasts! Show yourself and fight, so we can yaargh!” Bertram began to shout at the trails before being cut down when his folly of giving in to anger had been used as an opportunity to attack.  
Now Richard was without a star, like he had been before his promotion. It was a terrible disgrace for a commander to lose his star, but this was the last of his worries right now.  
He was alone. Alone and surrounded by enemies he couldn't see.  
Richard spun from side to side like a cornered animal, slashing at any moving trail that came too close, but it was nothing but grass his blade managed to cut down.   
“Show yourselves,” he repeated Bertram's words with a much quieter, but shaking voice. “Show yourselves and fight like men.”  
He heard a chitter replying from the right, sounding like a mocking laugh. His sword struck there and the next moment he got his wish granted when a strangely familiar scheme jumped from the end of a moving trail at his unprotected left side, sinking its teeth into Richard's neck.  
  
It did take Orell some time to notice something was not quite right. He expected several paladin groups at their respective villages, but none arrived. He first thought the stars ran into one of the Infected Forest's more dangerous creatures, had encountered deadly parasites or the elven villages were now sending warriors after them, but the continued absence of stars at the villages was suspicious enough for him to temporarily change his plans and investigate the paths they most likely had taken.   
“This is weird,” he said, digging with his foot in the cold ash of a campfire. The wolves had found the abandoned campsite along the path easily, but what Orell saw was not quite what he had expected.   
There were no traces of a fight, no victims of disease. There were tracks that led to the campsite without any tracks leaving it, as if the paladins had dissolved mid-air. Maybe there was something that attacked from above and dragged their victims up into the tangled canopy without leaving a trace? Disturbed, Orell looked up, expecting the attacker possibly still being there. But if several stars had vanished like that, then he surely would have had a run-in with the creatures himself. He didn't expect the Infected Forest had brought forth anything that fed exclusively on paladins, even if such a creature would be the best kind of forest dweller Orell could imagine. He asked Wellsy about creatures that could do such a thing, but the Green leader didn't know any arboreal predators fitting the traces in the camp.  
Neither Canis nor his wolf's keen nose did find any suspicious smells, either. The Brown with the antlered skull helmet was poking around with the blunt tip of his spear in the dirt left behind by the marching paladins, while the wolf was lifting his leg on a tube-shaped plant-animal next by. Orell decided to go over the traces in and around the campsite again. He must have missed something...   
Canis jumped up in surprise from the sudden sound of a metal surface striking another. When he regained his composure and looked in the direction of the source, he felt both relieved and annoyed, as the source of the sound had just been his master slapping his hand over his own face.  
The solution to the riddle was so simple Orell hadn't even thought about it initially, it was written clearly with impressions in soil. The paladins had not dissolved in thin air or been eaten by a climbing or aerial predator. They had just walked away in the same direction they had come from, with the traces of their arrival mixing with those of their departure.  
This just placed him in front of another riddle. Why did the paladins just turn around and walk back after they had taken such hardships attempting to reach that elven village? Whatever reason it was, it had affected not only this particular star of paladins, but apparently all others, too.   
“Gnarl, are you listening?” The advisor had excused himself for a few minutes because of a latrine visit.  
“Yes, Master.”  
“Did the Greens in the paladin camp in Arith-Nar tell of any changes there? Anything out of their usual stew?”  
The answer came after several minutes spent with Gnarl shouting at Grime, then shouting at another Minion Orell didn't know. “Yes, I just got some brand-new reports of the paladins moving their supplies around. And they sent out a number of large moths they had kept in cages. I wouldn't have expected them to be so generous to the Infected Forest's wildlife.”  
“Messenger moths,” Orell mused. They were likely the reason why the paladin stars had aborted their mission and the main camp moving their supplies implied that they planned to leave. Possibly they had enough of suffering failure after failure and planned to leave with the few elves they had managed to convince. But Orell knew the order too well; the paladins abandoning their quest like that was as likely as walrus seals swimming through the sands of the Ruborian desert.  
“Canis, how old are the tracks? Younger than a day?”  
The addressed Minion looked up from stoking in the soil and nodded.  
Orell grinned underneath his helmet. Paladins were slow, especially in a forest teeming with creatures they considered evil and would stop repeatedly to kill them. At the same time, Orell had wolves to follow their tracks even over terrain where their metal boots wouldn't leave any visible traces and Green Minions at least as familiar with the Infected Forest as the elven guide Yerael was.   
  
Following the paladins was easier than Orell had expected. They had hacked a trail through the undergrowth and with all the beasts of the forest they had ran into having fled or been killed, there were very few instances that required fights to progress, albeit the carcasses had attracted scavengers. Most of them were the same glowing pillbugs that inhabited the tree trunks and now came to the ground to feed, even on the corpses of their own kind, as well as the pale slugs that had scared him so much on their first encounter.   
Some of the other creatures attracted by the corpses were of a kind Orell preferred not to disturb. Especially the tentacled, colour-changing monstrosity picking up the carcasses was generously avoided, both because of the potential danger it posed and because it was almost painful to look at.  
The pursuit came to its end the day after. Orell and the Minions retreated for the night and continued early in the morning, to make best of the relatively safe time between the activity of the nocturnal predators and the diurnal hunters.  
They reached the paladins next to a slow-flowing wide river lined by muddy banks overgrown with a kind of plant that could easily pass as water reed, weren't it for the pink fleshy stems ending in a crown of tentacles and a canopy of snaking trees spanning over the water, with pillar-like stems descending into the stream as a support. The camp was on top of a relatively dry hummock and in the process of being broken.   
Orell didn't spend a lot of time with planning the attack; while they would be easily visible once they left the safety of the thickets surrounding the banks and the hummock was easy to defend, they vastly outnumbered the seven paladins and the three additional men accompanying them, and had the element of surprise on their side.   
Orell simply let the Minions run at their foes.  
The wolf riders covered the distance in a few bounds and toppled several startled paladins in their charge. The rest of the horde collided with the remaining men soon after, barely giving them time to draw their swords.   
The fight was short and brutal; the moment Orell arrived at the hummock himself, all paladins were downed, but they still managed to cut down several Minions. A disdraught Green was holding his spider which had lost all legs on its right side and the corpse of a Red was smouldering in the mud next to the hummock, blood and fuel leaking out of a nasty gash across the torso. Orell paid little attention to both and headed for the paladins, checking which were still alive.  
A groan directed him to a living man, which Orell turned on his back and took the helmet off. The paladin's eyes widened.  
“But... this cannot be... Richard had...”  
“Richard didn't do his job thoroughly enough,” Orell interrupted the wounded man sharply, then drew his sword. In any other situation this wouldn't have been half as intimidating as when he wouldn't have used that battered piece of metal form the corpse pit, but now the scratched, rusty blade held a promise of an outdrawn, very painful death. “But I will do mine. Tell me why you aborted your mission.”  
Through his pain, the man glared at Orell when he slowly realized that it was him who had been tampering with their task.  
“As if I...”  
“I'm wondering how many cuts I will need with this to reach the jugular,” Orell mused, stroking with his gauntleted hand over the sword's blade, probably dulling it more in the process. “Or should I start on your leg first?”  
“To retreat to the main camp!” the man blurted out. “March to Matthi-Nel to conquer and use its position to get the elves out!”  
“Good boy.”  
The paladin was crying now, from pain or from shame, Orell wasn't sure. The words that followed spoke for the latter. “Just make it quick, please.”  
His eyes squeezed shut, the man began to whisper a prayer to Punarim, while Orell got up and looked for Wellsy. Despite his disgust with the order in general, this one should get his wish granted.  
  
With all still breathing remains of the group having been finished off, Orell searched the camp for valuables. There were rations, which were a welcome change from the Tower's cuisine and the food found in the forest itself, a few valuables which Gnarl and the Minions insisted on being taken to the Tower, and a piece of parchment which had confirmed the paladin's words as true. There was also a wooden cage with a strange, fat and extremely hairy insect filling almost its entire interior out. Orell gave the odd asset a long look, trying to figure out what this meant, until the creature unfurled its long proboscis.   
Messenger pigeons flew to their homes, messenger moths to their females, he remembered the elf say. He decided to take the female moth with him, as he might intercept further messages from Arith-Nar that way.  
The last thing he took from the camp was a shiny, well-polished longsword from one of the paladins; while the rusty piece of metal had served him well and was more of the sword type he preferred to use, Orell felt less useless in a fight with a proper sharp blade on his side.   
Matthi-Nel was their next destination.   
Orell couldn't suppress a short, humourless laugh. This had been the place that lying bastard Richard wanted to direct him at the beginning and now he would go there himself, after all. Maybe the paladin sword he collected would be put to use to slice off the head of the one who took away his weapon in the mandelite caves.  
  
While Orell and his horde walked off the hummock and back under the cover of the snaking trees next to the river bank, a pair of eyes was following every movement and a pair of keen ears snapped up everything that had been said. Hidden away between the leaves growing on the vines forming the canopy over the river, two mouth corners had curled up into a devious grin.   
Matthi-Nel. This will be the place they will meet.


End file.
